The Hunger Games: The Next Generation
by AGEless777
Summary: My name is Sapphire Mellark. I am fifteen years old. My parents were in the Hunger Games. My parents won the Hunger Games. My parents led the Revolution. The Revolution is over. I am in the Hunger Games. I vowed to my father that I would lead a conspiracy. I might not make it out alive.
1. Chapter 1: Catch You By Surprise

**Hey guys! So this is my first fanfiction! I've been a fan of this site for a long time and debated with myself several times if I should put my own fanfictions on here. I finally decided YES! I will. So I have. Now you guys get the pleasure of reading it. I hope you like it.**

**-AGEless**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Hunger Games**

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**One**

"Just try it," my father says, trying to hand me a piece of bread.

I stare at it for a second. "If you're so sure that it's good, why don't you try it?" I say, pushing his hand back at him. "After all, you're the baker."

Father seems hesitant at first. But he puts the bread in his mouth and starts chewing. I wait for his reaction. He keeps chewing, seeming okay. I think that maybe I had gotten the recipe this time. Then, his face twists into a bad expression and he spits the bread into the disposal.

I sit on the corner of the counter, balancing myself so I won't fall off. "See?" I say, waiting for him to finish. "I'm not good at cooking. The men in this house are better cooks than the women. It's a shame. Hopefully, I'll marry a man who can cook. Considering I don't want my children to starve."

Father straightens up and looks at me. "Maybe a little more butter next time." He comes over to where I'm sitting and props himself against the counter. "And what's a shame is that the women in this house hunt better than the men. It's not right."

I roll my eyes at him. "But you do know how to survive. Be glad you can do that."

Father and Mother were in the Hunger Games so many years ago. The Hunger Games were games that the Capitol created to show they still had power after the Dark Days about eighty or ninety-some years ago. They would pull two tributes ages twelve to eighteen from each district (with twelve districts to make twenty-four tributes) to go to the Capitol and be put in an arena. In that arena, they would fight to the death. The last one standing would be the winner. They would get showered with gifts and fortune. Mother and Father were the start of the end of the Hunger Games.

Father's blue eyes went from sapphire to light blue as they hardened and turned to ice. "If it weren't for Katniss, I would be dead. Your mother's a better survivor than I am. If it weren't for the Games, none of this would have happened."

I braced myself in case he was going to have another attack. When Father was seventeen, he got stolen by the Capitol. They injected tracker jacker venom into him, showing him pictures of Mother while doing it to make him think she was some sort of evil thing. He still has tracker jacker attacks every now and then. Instead he just grabs my hand and squeezes. "And now it's over," he whispers every so quietly. "And I'll never let anything as bad as what happened to me happen to you, Sapphire. I promise."

I look dead into his eyes and nod. "I believe you. If anything happens to me, I'll fight to the death. No one's going to take me that easy."

He grinned a bit. "That's my baby girl." He moves back over to where my defective loaf of bread is sitting. "So. Try again on Thursday?"

I can't really focus on the bread. Father is always telling me things like he just said. But they had never been as intense as just now. It put butterflies in my stomach. It makes me feel like something bad _is _going to happen and Father knows it, but everyone else doesn't. Maybe he does. Or maybe he was just having a small tracker jacker attack. Who knows? But it makes me flash back to the first time he told me that and I understood why he told me.

I was twelve. It was the night after I had watched the Hunger Games. I had a nightmare. I woke up screaming about my best friend, Sutton, trying to kill me. Father was the one who came to comfort me.

"Shh," he whispered. "It's alright." He stroked my hair while the tears streamed down my face.

"It was horrible, Father," I sobbed into his shirt. "I was in the arena. I was in the Hunger Games. I was just trying to stay safe. And Sutton was there. He was chasing me, trying to kill me. I just wanted to stay alive, Father. And he was trying to kill me." My voice broke and I kept crying.

"Shh," he repeated. "No one's trying to kill you. You're safe. There aren't going to be anymore Hunger Games. You're not going to the arena."

"And Bey was there too," I mumbled. "Beowulf was with me. They put him in the arena to taunt me. I'm not the one I'm crying about. It was Bey I'm crying about. I… I killed him. In my dream. I didn't mean to, Father."

"I know, I know. But Bey is fine. Look. I'll take you to see him."

Father led me through our dark house to Bey's room. He pushed the door open and my nine-year-old brother was lying in his bed, his blond curls a mess. Stifling my sobs, I went over to his bed to look at him. He was dreaming, a little grin on his face as he dreamed. I was honestly glad he was having good dreams. And I was glad he was still in the dark about the Hunger Games. I brushed a few curls back from his forehead and kissed it. His eyes opened just a bit and he looked at me.

"Sapphire?" he said groggily and annoyed. "What are you doing in here? What time is it?"

I shrugged. "I had a bad dream. I just decided I would check on you since I was up. You need anything?"

He looked at me in surprise and shook his head. "No I'm fine. Well, now that I think about it, I need sleep. So get out of my room." He put his head back down on his pillow and closed his eyes, easily going back to sleep.

I pulled his covers back up to his chin and turned to walk out. "Goodnight, Bey," I whispered. Even more quietly, I whispered, "I love you."

I was almost out the door when I heard him say, "You know, you're not so bad for a sister. Night, Sapphire."

Father brought me back to my room. He put me into my bed. He looked at me. "See? Bey's okay. You're okay. I'm sure Sutton's okay. Nothing bad is going to happen. I won't let it. I promise." He kissed my cheek and started out of my room. "Goodnight, Sapphire."

Before that, I was like any other sister would be to their little brother. Mean and harsh. But not anymore. I treasure Bey's life more than my own. More than anyone's.

"Sapphire, did you hear me?"

"Huh?" I snap back into reality and see Father looking at me. "Oh, yeah. Thursday. My other baking day. Sure. We'll try again."

Father smiles and moves to where I was sitting. "Dearest daughter," he says in a teasing voice, "you need to be more attentive, quick on your feet. Because if you aren't, people will catch you by surprise." On "catch you by surprise" he flips me off the counter. I roll backwards and catch myself in a crouched position, like Mother showed me.

I grin evilly and look up at him through the lock of hair in my eyes. "It takes a lot more than that to get a hunter by surprise. I would think you would know that. Considering you married one."

"I'm still learning. Even after about twenty-five years."

I hear the front door slam and footsteps through the foyer. "That was so much fun, Mother!" I hear Bey say as he comes in. "When are we going again?"

I look at Father mischievously and press my finger to my lips. I pull my boots off and set them to the side. Still in my crouch, I move to the foyer. Excellent. Bey has his back turned. Mother catches me behind his back, and again I put my finger to my lips. The corner of her lip twitches, then she focuses back on Bey. She continues to talk to him, but I'm not paying attention to what she's saying. Making sure he doesn't suspect anything, I pounce on my twelve-year-old brother.

"Awk! Sapphire!" Bey complains from my grip. "Why? You can't just act like a normal person?"

I giggle and squeeze him into a tighter hug. "I'm just happy my baby brother is home!" I finally release him and ruffle his hair. "So how'd the hunt go?" Bey and I take turns hunting with Mother and then baking with Father. Both of us preferred hunting. But Bey is better at baking than me.

"I caught three squirrels today," Bey says proudly, fixing his hair. "Two were with snares. The other was with the bow and arrow. I'm still not a good aim."

I smile at him. "You'll get the hang of it one day. You just need to practice a bit more."

His gray eyes are doubtful as he looks at me. "I'll never be as good as you and Mother. I mean, I'm good with snares, but not very good with archery. Or throwing knives. Or spears. I'm good with baking and cooking though."

"That's why you need to keep practicing. So you _can _be good at it." I shrug a bit. "I didn't get good at archery until I started practicing."

Bey snorts at my sentence. "Yeah right. I remember watching you when I was five. There's no way some eight-year-old could shoot as well as you could. You were born with the ability to hunt and shoot and everything."

"Katniss, Bey, there's some bread in here," Father's voice floats into the foyer. I almost snicker, knowing what he's about to do.

_Not everything, _I think as I follow Bey and Mother into the kitchen. I watch as Father hands them both a piece. "Who made it?" Mother asks as she flips her graying, black hair over her shoulder.

Father smiles at me. "Sapphire. I think she got the recipe this time."

Mother winks at me and takes a bite of her piece while Bey shoves a whole slice in his. Then, I start laughing as their expressions twist into disgust. Bey quickly spits his into the disposal. He glares at Father. "You're going to pay for that," he growls. He tackles Father and they start a brawl.

"Take it to the kitchen!" Mother tells them. She puts the loaf into our very old cat, Buttercup's dish. The fat, ugly cat sniffs at the loaf and then looks up at Mother like, "This is really what you're feeding me? You can forget it."

"Dumb, spoiled cat," I mutter. Mother had told me about how she had tried to drown him once, and she couldn't follow through with it. "Maybe you should have drowned him."

Mother chuckles. "Honestly, I'm really glad I didn't. He kept your Aunt Prim happy through the years."

I shudder hearing Prim's name. I've read about the Uprising – later known as the Revolution. I know about the silver parachutes with the bombs attached to them. The ones that killed Prim and gave Mother and Father all their burns. The ones that were supposedly the traitor, Gale Hawthorne's doing

I feel a hand touch my wrist. "Sapphire," Mother says quietly. "Please try to control yourself. I don't want you to end up like me and Peeta. Torturing yourself with memories and horrors."

I nod and hop down off of the counter. I walk into the living area, where Father and Bey had settled their dispute. Bey is flipping through a book, trying to find his place. Father is watching the news, his face pinched. He looks over his shoulder at me. He doesn't get a good look at me. "Katniss?"

"No," I say. "She's in the kitchen."

"Katniss!" Father repeats.

Mother appears, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Yes?" she says. "Is something wrong, Peeta?"

"You might want to see this."

We all turn our attention to the television, where the top story is being played. Few people still have that annoying Capital accent and this announcer was one of them.

"In other news, President Hamilton passed away late last night. Hamilton has been sick for several months. The doctors believe that his heart gave out in his sleep. His daughter was the one to find him this morning. It has already been declared that Vice-President Nicola will take over as President. He shall be initiated into office next week. The only question here is will he be as good a President as Cresol Hamilton?"

The telephone begins to ring, so we turn the television down as I answer it.

"Hello?"

"Sapphire?" a frantic voice says on the other line. "Sapphire? Is your mother or father there? I need to speak with one of them."

"Grandmother," I say slowly. "Calm down. Mother's right here." I hand the telephone to Mother, who is standing right beside me.

"Mother?" she says. "Yes… Yes… Slow- slow down… Uh-huh… Yes, we saw… No, I'm sure everything will be fine… You're over exaggerating… Look, I know you've worked a long day at the hospital. Just go home, get a bit of rest, and call me later, alright? Okay… I love you too…"

She hands the telephone to me and I put it on the receiver. "What was wrong with Grandmother?" I ask her, seeing her shake her head.

"She's never like Vice-President Nicola," Mother replies. "She thinks that this is going to be the worst thing since the Dark Days and he's going to bring the Hunger Games back into society."

"Don't we to vote on this?" Bey asks, flipping through his History textbook. "Or you and Father do. Isn't that what usually happens when we get a new President?"

I shake my head. We had learned about this in my classes last year. "Not in the case that the President dies," I say. "The Vice-President takes over as President, completing term until it's time to elect a new President. Very simple once you learn it."

"And plus, we can't have another Hunger Games," Mother says. "It's against the law. The last one was many years ago."

"The last one didn't have to occur," Father says, coming up behind Mother. He looks angry. I have heard this before and I hate it every time I hear it. "But it was what the Mockingjay wanted. And the Mockingjay gets what she wants."

The very last Hunger Games was voted on. The last Hunger Games victors voted on it. The yeas out won the nays. The tributes were Capital leaders' children. President Snow's granddaughter was in it. She didn't make it past the second day. There was no victor in the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games. The last person committed suicide.

"Peeta," Mother says. "Please don't do this now." She put a hand on his arm. "This is really not the time."

Father yanks his arm away. "If you hadn't have voted yes, we wouldn't be having these arguments." He stomps towards his room. Mother sighs and starts after him.

Bey tugs on my arm. "Why do they have to be like that, Sapphire?" he asks me.

I shake my head. "I don't know, Bey," I say honestly. I will never know why. And I hope I never have some kind of event that makes me know. "Let's go skin those squirrels."

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**So what did you guys think? Love it? Hate it? Needs improvement? Reviews and suggestions are ****_very _****welcome and make me happy.**

...


	2. Chapter 2: It Ususally Ends In Tragedy

**I am a bum. I have nothing better to do than write and blog and fanfic and bum and blog and write and eat food and blow up my sister's phone while she's at work. Okay. Not really... I could be memorizing songs for my choir... Or catching up on my online Spanish classes... Or pick up the limbs that Isaac left in my yard... But I have better things to do. Like go ahead and put the next chapter on here.**

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**TWO**

I feel myself falling asleep when something hits me square in the forehead. I sit up and uncrumple the paper. It's simply a blank piece. When the teacher's not looking, I hit Sutton Wilson in the back of the blond head with it, assuming that's who hit me. Judging by the way he turns around and smiles at me, he was the one who did it.

"Miss Mellark," the teacher says, noticing us. "Since you clearly seem to be paying attention, will you tell us the event that happened two nights ago?"

I look up at the ceiling as if thinking. "President Hamilton passed away," I whisper in a _duh _sort of tone.

"And what will happen because President Hamilton's death, Mr. Wilson?" he asks, moving over to Sutton's desk.

"Vice-President Nicola will take over as President," he replies. Even if we weren't being disruptive, the teacher would have still called on us. It's just that he knows that we're practically the only two who watch the news.

"Very good," the teacher says. He goes to the white board to write something on it – we are probably about to get a lesson in elections and offices – when the television in the corner of the classroom turns on. The Capitol seal comes on and we all know what's going on.

All across Panem, they're showing the President's tribute, as they do when every President dies. It's a long program, about two hours so it takes up most of our class time that we have left. Luckily, the teacher doesn't mind. He enjoys this kind of stuff and finds it a good opportunity to have a lesson. We know he's going to quiz us about it tomorrow.

Basically, it was an overview of the President Hamilton's life, his accomplishments, and how he's helped Panem. Some of the kids fall asleep during it. At some point, Sutton moved his chair next to mine, and we started whispering about stuff. How boring this is, what we're doing after school, how he's going to "run into" me and Mother when we're hunting.

The Capitol seal appears and the television cuts off. The teacher is about to say something. He is cut off by the bell ringing. "Class dismissed," he grumbles as the students start filing out.

Sutton and I walk home together. We were soon joined by Bey when we get a mile from the school. His grey eyes are distant and he has a red splotch on his face.

"Did you fall asleep again?" I ask him, raising an eyebrow at him.

He looks up at me groggily. "What?" he says. "I don't know what you're talking about. No I didn't fall asleep."

I cross my arms over my chest. "Beowulf," I say, my voice full of warning. Okay. So I really don't have much say, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him.

"Alright." He puts his hands up in surrender. "I fell asleep. So what? It's not like my teacher is going to give me a test on it."

I shrug. "I'm going to stop by the Hob," I say. "Mother wanted me to trade some fruit for a couple of arrows. Someone broke three of hers yesterday."

Bey blushes and shrugs. "I'm talented like that," he says.

I walk into Old Hal's little run-down shop. He smiles when he sees us. "Why, I don't think I've seen the Mellark children in ages," he says.

I smile back at him. "I feel the same way, Hal," I say. I reach into my bag and pull out a couple of boxes of strawberries. I asked our teacher to keep them in his refrigerator for me so they were still good. "What do you think I could get with these? Two or three arrows, I'm hoping."

He takes the boxes from my hands and examines it contents. He scratches his chin. "I may be able to scrap up a couple of arrows," he says. "Are you and Katniss going hunting today? How is she?"

We follow him to the back room. "She's doing well. So is Father. This is my day to go hunting."

He turns to me with two arrows in his hand. "I'll tell you what," he says. "You bring me a squirrel after your hunt, and you guys can keep these arrows."

I grin at him and lean closer. "And if I bring you a buck?"

His grey eyes are challenging as he grins back. "I'll give the both of you brand new bows and arrows. But I bet you your father's best cake that you can't get one."

"You're on." We shake on it and he hands me the arrows.

Old Hal points at Sutton. "You keep this girl in line, you hear?" he says to him. "Don't want 'the chick on fire' getting into trouble."

I roll my eyes at the old nickname he gave me when I was a baby as Sutton smiles and nodded. "She's certainly a handful," he replies. "I'll bring you a jackrabbit sometime. They're in season right now."

Old Hal nodded. "Tell your mother I said hello."

We walk out of Old Hal's store. "At least someone doesn't seem effected by President Hamilton's death," Sutton says, adjusting his bag on his shoulder.

I shake my head. "Yeah, I know. Grandmother called last night. She was really shaken by it. Mother even said she thinks that something worse than the Dark Days is going to happen because of Vice-President Nicola's taking over office."

"Yeah, my mother was worried too. But Father calmed her down. So it's not like she had an absolute freak out."

I nod, my black hair annoyingly falling in my eyes. I push it back. "How's Delly doing, by the way?"

Delly and Father were friends when they were children. She was one of the people who helped bring him back to sanity. Or, at least, halfway to sanity. They stayed friends, which is basically how Sutton and I became friends. Sutton is nothing like either of his parents. It's almost like he's someone else's child.

"She's doing well," he says. "Still disapproving of my lack of manners and elegance. But hey."

I shrug as we stop in front of his house. "You win some, you lose some. See you later?"

He nods and squeezes me in a hug. This somewhat confuses me, but I hug him back. He goes into his house, and waves to me and Bey out the window as we start walking away.

Bey holds onto my hand and kicks large rocks as we walk. "Are you and Sutton going to date each other?" he asks out of the blue.

I shake myself out of my thoughts of the brand new bow I was going to get and look at innocent-looking boy. "What?"

"You and Sutton," he says simply. "Are you going to date? And, you know, marry? Like Mother and Father?"

I mentally slap my forehead. Why is my twelve-year-old brother asking me this? Like I had the answer.

But truth be told, I have thought about Sutton and I. Us. However, I don't think there ever will be an us. I think of Sutton too much as a best friend. Another brother. An advisor. I'm not sure what he thinks. If my intentions are right, though, I believe he thinks the same thing. We're too much like family to date.

"No, Bey," I tell him. "I don't think Sutton and I are going to get married or even date. That would just be too strange. Daft. Queer. Whatever you want to call it."

His boyish face falls. "Oh," he says sadly. "Well, what about you and that Hawthorne boy? What was his name? Hammer? Screw?"

I shudder. "His name was Chisel. And we will never have anything together. The only way I would marry a Hawthorne would be if we were the last two people on Earth, and we were the only hope to get the population back up. And even then, I think I would let the human race die out. Plus, the guy's like twenty-six or something now."

He laughs at my last comment. "You lie," he says. "He's only two or three years older than you." Then as my words before that sink into his brain, Bey winces. "What do you have against the Hawthorne's anyway? It's not like they did anything to you."

Hmm. So Mother and Father haven't told Beowulf yet. I despise the name Hawthorne. It's like venom on a battle wound. Constantly burning and throbbing and hurting. He killed my aunt and abandoned my mother after he told him he loved her. Mother says that she's forgiven him, and he even comes to visit every so often. As if that's good enough. I don't know if I'll ever forgive him. I don't know if I can.

I walk on, ignoring him. This is not something that I am going to talk to my little brother like this. Although I do admit that if I had to marry anyone in all of District 12 and possibly Panem, it would be Sutton. But I'm really not a people person. I don't talk to very many people. Mostly my family, Sutton, and Haymitch because I've known him all my life. And also different traders because, of course, I need to make deals with them and that requires speaking. My teachers know to almost never to call on me because they know that I rarely ever speak in front of my class.

But if there's one thing I have vowed that I will never do it's fall in love. Because it usually ends in tragedy. Like Mother and Gale Hawthorne.

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**Yeah... I admit this one is kind of a filler... But it has significant meaning. You know, if you dig deep enough. Meh. I still feel like a bum.**

**Review please?**

**-AGEless**


	3. Chapter 3: Don't Come Crying To Me

**A/N: So to those of you who actually read this thing, I started this story a few months ago. This is as far as I've come so far because I would get sidetracked by other projects.  
Oh & I'm betting some of you are probably confused about the CHICK ON FIRE thing. So let me explain. Katniss was the girl on fire. She was also the Mockingjay. Birds' babies are called chicks. Sapphire is Katniss's daughter. Therefore, she is the chick on fire. Confusion = defeated. Unless you are stupid.  
Now, here's chapter three. Enjoy.**

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**THREE**

It has been weeks since the events mentioned before. Per usual, everyone has been getting over the initial shock of President Hamilton's death and are accepting President Nicola. He was promoted to office last week.

It's the weekend and we are all happy. I'm outside getting used to my new bow that Old Hal gave me. A target is on the other side of our large backyard. I pull on the string a couple of times. Then, I load my arrow in my bow. I carefully pull it back and bring the bow up, using my mouth as an anchor. I focus on the bull's eye. I have this "method" where I leave one strand of hair down in my face so I can tell which way the wind is blowing. It is is blowing east, I'm facing north. It seems strong. I let out a breath and angle it again. There. My fingers start to loosen their grip on the tip of the arrow when I hear shattering from the house next door. My muscles jerk and the arrow goes flying past the target, bouncing off the tree behind it.

I glare in the direction of the house and turn back to the target. I load another arrow and repeat the process. I let go and the arrow flies straight. It almost hits the bull's eye. I grab another arrow quickly, and then drop it as I hear loud _thumps _coming from the house. I groan and pick my arrow up, putting it back in my quiver.

I walk around to the front of the house and knock on the door. "Haymitch?" I say, waiting for an answer. I knock louder. Still no answer. I start pounding on the door. "Haymitch! Do open up! Come now! This is childish!" There is once again no answer.

I mumble to myself and push the door open. When I first took in, I see a nice, clean house. I walk inside a little ways. "Haymitch?" I call. "Are you here? What was all that ruckus I heard? Haymitch!"

I go into the living room to see Haymitch lying in between a knocked over table and a chair. A whiskey glass is broken on the floor and spirits are spilled everywhere. I rush over to his side. "Haymitch, are you alright?"

He blinks up at me with his grey Seam eyes. "Katniss?" he mumbles. "Is that you? Have you been stealing Peeta's eyes again?"

I shake my head, wondering what was stranger. Whether he called asked if Mother had been stealing Father's eyes or the fact that he said "again." "No," I say. "It's me. Sapphire. You know, Katniss's daughter."

His eyes widen with recognition. "Oh, yes." He perks up and tries to bounce up from where he was laying. Perhaps if he was not drunk and a few years younger than he is, he would have been able to. I help him to his feet and sit him down in the chair. He puts a hand on my shoulder and pulls me tightly into a hug. "Sapphire, my girl." I cough a little at the smell of alcohol on his breath. "How have you been these days? Gotten any good boys? Or perhaps a girl?"

I wrinkle my nose. "No," I say. "I'll stick with boys. I say, Haymitch, you have been sober for almost half a year. Why are you having a relapse? Surely, there must be some reason."

His face turns serious as he looks at me. Something that only Haymitch can do when drunk. He motions for me to sit which I do. He turns to the newspaper sitting on his end table. The headline is about President Nicola. He turns back to me. "I tell you, Sapphire, everything is going to go down with Nicola in office now. I've met the man. A very deceiving, nasty snake he is. I've heard he supported the Hunger Games."

I shake my head. "Haymitch, I'm sure President Hamilton wouldn't put anyone who supported the Hunger Games in office. That would be absurd."

He grimaces at me. "That's why he never told President Hamilton that he supported them. When Hamilton spoke of the Games, he would pretend that he was against them, that he despised them. But behind the scenes, he wanted them back. And now that Nicola's president, that's exactly what he's going to do. And at the Reaping, I can promise that you and Beowulf are going to be the ones drawn."

I stand up and start picking up the bigger shards of glass. "No one's going to bring the Hunger Games back, Haymitch. Go upstairs, take a nap and I'll clean all of this up. Okay?"

He stands up shakily. "You say that, Sapphire Primrose Mellark. But I know what's going to happen. And don't come crying to me when it does happen." He walks to his bedroom, holding on to the railing with a death grip. I finish cleaning up the alcohol and glass. I look through his cupboards and find the rest of the alcohol that he purchased earlier today.

I can't help thinking about what he said. About President Nicola wanting to bring the Hunger Games back. That isn't true… is it? So many people have said it... But the Capitol is always exaggerating things and making rumors. No. No. It's not true.

I go home, dump the alcohol out, and go to the living room. I turn the TV on and find it is already on the news. There's something about District 4 on it. I have missed most of the story but as they are ending it, I catch things like, "Fishermen are outraged by this change." "Some of the people we talked to say they think this will make them go broke and have to live in poverty as they do not make enough money already even with President Hamilton's changes at the beginning of his term."

Then, though I didn't hear it, it snaps into perspective that they must have raised the tax rate on a fisherman's catch every day. My brows furrow in at this. Why would they raise the tax rate? Is something killing the fish in 4 or something? Has something in the stock market crashed that I simply didn't hear about?

I sit there wondering, spaced out, when I hear the front door slam. "Sapphire?"

I shift my weight so I can look into the foyer. I must have been sitting too close to the edge though because I rolled off and hit the floor with a thud.

Mother and Bey come into view with bags in hand. Bey raises an eyebrow at me. "Why are you on the floor?" He looks like he is trying to refrain from laughing, seeing from my awkward position that I must not be comfortable - which is true.

I bounce up and smooth my ponytail. "Oh, you know," I mumble. "Just trying some acrobatic stuff."

Beys shrugs and brings the bags into the kitchen, leaving me and Mother alone in the living room. She puts her bags down and stands beside me. "You okay, dear?" she asks. "You look kind of... frantic."

I shake my head as if to clear it. "Yeah," I say quickly. "I'm- I'm fine. But, uh, you didn't happen to hear anything about District 4 while you were out, did you?"

Her grey eyes widen, her forehead crinkling. "You saw that too, didn't you?" she says quietly. She runs a hand through her hair. "I don't know why it's happening, but something seems off to me. I don't know anything personal about President Nicola and I'm hoping what I hear about him isn't true."

I blink a few times, as if it'll make the hard, angry look on her face go away. "Mother, there's nothing you can do if those things are true. You'll just have to live with it until the next election."

Mother pulls back from the close proximity that neither of us seemed to notice we acquired. She smirks slightly. "I've led an uprising once," she said. "What makes you think I can't do it again?" And with that, she walks off, carrying her bags into the kitchen also.

I stand in the middle of the room by myself, watching her. I run a hand through my hair, not helping but think how strange my family is.

But then again, it's not their fault that they are, is it?

* * *

**A/N: Who's the best?  
AG's the best!  
But seriously. The fans of this story should honestly be grateful (greatful? I can never figure it out.) Because I sat in my freezing living room finishing this chapter for you. And to make matters worse, I am an anemic insomiac. Yes, you heard right. I am anemic and I have insomnia. How messed up is that? I'm tired all the time yet I can never go to sleep. And yes, I am tired right now, and no, I do not want to go to sleep.  
Erm... I'll stop complaining and peace out.  
Review?**

**-AGEless**


	4. Chapter 4: Not Very Many Chances

**A/N: Good afternoon, guys! So, as I was reading through my chapters today, I realized that I'm going to have a bit of explaining to do. Like the tax rate and District 4 being poor when it was one of the wealthier districts. (It's been a while since I've read the Games so I forgot that detail.)  
So say hello to Chapter 4!**

* * *

**Four**

I jolt out of my slumber and gasp in a breath like I hadn't been breathing all night. I sit up in bed and run a hand through my hair. That stupid Hunger Games dream, always keeping me awake.

I reach over to my nightstand, feeling for my water glass when my hand hits something. The TV in my room turns on, and my first initial reaction is to shield my eyes from the sudden burst of bright light. After I got over that, I removed my hands and saw that they replaying the story about District 4. I turn up the volume and listen.

_"Big changes have occured today at District Four," _the announcer says, staring straight into the camera. _"It has been announced that President Nicola has issued a new law saying that fishermen must pay ten cents for every ounce of fish they catch."_

I raise an eyebrow. Every ounce? Does this just count for District Four? When the Revolution ended, the fences setting limits in the districts were torn down. With that new freedom, traders and sellers were free to go around and look for new resources. Many of the districts realized they had places where they could fish and not have to get any from District Four. This is why District Four is now poorer than it once was. And if this just counts for District Four, it could only make matters worse.

_"Normally," _the woman continues, _"this would sound like a good thing. The more the fishermen pay, the more they would get back because the taxes on the fish would be higher.. However, in this case, they aren't even going to get fifteen percent of what they paid back. When we asked Nicola's advisors about this change, they simply answered, 'With Hamilton's death there have been drops in sales numbers and the amount of money the Capitol is getting in. We don't expect this to change anytime soon.' Many people say that there is something strange behind this. They are not satisfied with the advisors reasoning. Fishermen are outraged at this, as it is not only putting put to action in District Four but to fishermen all across Panem._

_"That's all for tonight. See you at ten o'clock tonight."_

The Capitol seal came on and another show started playing. I flip off the television and look at my clock. 1:48 AM. I have a bad urge to go talk to Sutton. Would he still be awake at this time?

Nonetheless, I pull myself out of bed, slip my jacket on, through my hair in a ponytail, and sneak out my window, running to make sure I didn't get caught.

I climb the tree to Sutton's window, which is luckily the only on the back of the house. I tap on his window softly enough that I wouldn't wake his parents but loud enough that he could hear me.

His curtains part, and there he stands, looking sleepy and confused. He opens the window and goes and sits back down on his bed. I crawl in and land quietly on the floor. I take a seat next to him and watch him carefully.

Sutton pats down his sleep tumbled hair and sighs. "Any reason why you're coming in through my window at 2 in the morning?" he says, starting to wake up.

I shrug. "I just had a really bad need to talk to someone," I say quietly so his parents would hear. "You know..."

He sits silently, waiting for me to continue.

I blow out a huff of air. "Okay. Did you hear about the District Four thing?" I ask cautiously. I know he has an uncle in Four who is a fisher. I could be treading in troubled waters here.

He stiffens, suddenly completely alert. "You mean the fishermen having to pay taxes on their catch?"

I nod.

"Yeah," he says slowly. "It's not an unusual thing. I've heard of it before. But I know where you're going with this. _This _situation is strange, I admit. Nothing good can come out of this."

I push an annoying strand of hair out of my face and meet Sutton's blue eyes, not sapphire like mine but a light sky blue. "I hear so many people say that they hate President Nicola, that only bad things can come out of him. And so many say that he supports the Hunger Games. I want to not believe it so badly, but I can't help but wonder. I'm so confused right now. There really is something off about this. Like the advisors saying that this was because of sales going down because of Hamilton's death. We would have heard about it, right? They wouldn't just leave their citizens in the dark about something like that."

Sutton shrugs, running a hand through his hair, making it stick up again. "I guess we'll know when you get reaped for the Hunger Games," he says. I know he meant it as a joke, but my heart clenched when he said it. I've never told him about my dream. The one where he tries to kill me in the Hunger Games. I might tell him one day but not now. Not tonight.

I stand up and yawn. "I had better be getting home." Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion hit me, and I prop myself against the wall. "I don't want my parents going to check on me in the middle of the night, and then worry because I'm not there. Thanks, Sutton."

I am about to go out the window when Sutton grabs my wrist. "Wait," he says. "I can tell you're tired. Why don't you stay here tonight? I'll have Mom call Katniss in the morning, tell her you stayed over here. Don't want you passing out on your way home."

I stand there for a minute, one foot on the branch outside, the other in Sutton's bedroom, thinking about my options. Finally, I shrug and pull my leg back inside his room.

He smiles at me and pulls a spare pillow and blanket from his closet. "You can have the bed. I'll sleep on the floor."

"Oh, no, Sutton," I say. "I'm a guest. I'll sleep on the floor. You can have your bed."

He shakes his head as he starts to make himself a pallet on the floor. "Exactly," he says, throwing the pillow in the ground. "You are a guest. Guests get special privilages. Therefore, you are in the bed, I am on the floor."

I sigh but agree with him reluctantly. I hate accepting hospitality. I crawl into his bed, sitting up for a few moments.

Sutton watches me as I snuggle down under the covers and sigh contently as I get comfortable. Once I stop moving, he comes over and smiles his dazzling smile at me. "Goodnight, Sapphire," he whispers. With that, he bends down and kisses my forehead. He goes to his pallet, lays down and closes his eyes, drifting off to sleep. Or pretending to anyway.

I examine his face in the moonlight. Shadows fall on him, bringing out his cheekbones, the curve of his lip. Looking at him, I realize how much he has grown up since my first memory of him. Sutton may not be the most handsome boy or the one that all the girls swoon over, but he's still a beautiful young man. And any girl would be lucky to have him.

I touch the spot where he kissed me and smile a bit. After watching him for a few more minutes, I say, "Sutton?" His eyes open, and he looks up at me expectantly. I smile and scoot over a bit, patting the place beside me. "I can make room," I say. "You can sleep up here."

He seems to be thinking for a few minutes, then he slowly gets up, crawls around me, and settles himself beside me. Before we both drift off to sleep, he whispers in my ear, "Thanks." I feel his arm come around my waist, and I welcome the warmth it provides me.

Because with the way that things are looking right now, he might not get very many chances to do it again.

* * *

**A/N: And cut! That's all for this chapter, folks. I was kind of writing as I went so if it's bad, I'm sorry.  
But I did throw in a bit of Satton for you! So you have to give me credit there! I'm really excited to get to the Reaping! I already have it written out! But at the same time, I really don't want to rush this. I feel like I am... Hmph.  
Oh, by the way, please feel free to review. Reviews are my bread and water!**

**-AGEless**


	5. Chapter 5: Any Day Could Be Your Last

**So I really don't have much to say this time. Sorry about last night's rant. I have to control myself sometimes.  
Here's the real chapter 5.**

* * *

**FIVE**

Sutton and I are calmly walking out of the doors of the school, being some of the first to make it out of the class. Suddenly, a ball of energy blows past us and runs out the door. "Freedom! Hello, glorious summertime!" it exclaims as it finally reaches the outside world.

I look at Sutton and roll my eyes, jogging outside to catch up with it before it runs into the woods and gets lost forever. However, when I get outside all I see is it kissing the dusty ground. "Gross, Bey!" I chide him. "Do you know what dirt is made of?"

He starts laughing and picks himself up, brushing his pants off. "Aw, come on, Sapphire!" he says, tickling me (attempting to, anyway). "It's summer! Get happy! Have a little fun!"

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying not to say anything. "Just walk," I command, moving forward after Sutton catches up to me. "Little brothers. I swear he's going to kill me one of these days," I murmur as I watch Bey skip - yes, _skip _- ahead of us.

Sutton chuckles. "It's summer," he tells me, a smile on his face. "Let the kid have his fun and be young while he can."

_Be young while he can... _For some reason, the Hunger Games have been stuck on my mind a whole lot lately. The words make my stomach clench. "I guess I'm just in a really sour mood right now. Because of... you know..."

Sutton hangs his head shamefully. "Yeah. I know."

Things have only been getting worse these last few months in Panem. Tax rates have been going up everywhere, people are limited to the amount of food they can buy, more and more people are starting to go poor again. I've even heard that they're thinking about making child labor legal so families can get more money. And yet all we ever hear from President Nicola or his advisors is "this is for the best". All I can think is that if this is the best, I don't want to see the worst. I hear Mother and Father and some of the older community saying that they fear it's going to be exactly how it was before the Revolution. So many saying, "I told you so," "I knew this was going to happen," and "Time to find another white horse because things aren't going to change."

"Snap out of it!"

I shake my head and see Sutton looking at me worriedly. I look down from his eyes and suck in a deep, slow breath. "Sorry," I mumble. "Spacing out again. It's just really tough right now?" I look around for another blonde. I turn to glare at Sutton. "Where's Beowulf?"

He winces at my glare, me being an inch taller than him adding to the effect. "He went to your house. You were coming to mine, remember?"

I turn around and see his white house. I feel a blush creeping up my neck, and fidget with my curls, a bad habit I have when nervous. "Oh... Yeah..."

He shakes his head. "And I thought I was the one with short-term memory loss. You're going to have to learn to be quicker on your feet here, Sapphire."

I unintentionally gasp in a breath. _"Dearest daughter," Father says, coming to where I'm sitting, "you have to be more attentive, quick on your feet. Because if you aren't, someone will catch you by surprise." _My mind flashes to the footage I saw of Mother trying to dodge fireballs in her first Hunger Games. Luckily, though, I could tell what I was doing to Sutton wasn't able to tell I was spacing out.

I say a quick hello to Delly, go to Sutton's room, and he flips on the television just in time for the 4 o'clock news. I sit on his bed, watching it while he straightens a few things around his room.

Weather, boring. Charity case, boring. Dog saving little boy's life, fake. Uprising in District 10, boring. Wait, what?

I turn up the volume and hit Sutton in the head with a pillow so he'll stop crumpling up papers to throw away. He glares at me, not nearly making the affect mine does. I glare back at him and point at the television. He watches it, his bottom lip playfully poked out.

_"Sources say that late this morning, there was an attempted uprising in District 10 today," _the announcer says. _"It was quickly taken control of by Peacekeepers and other officials who happened to be in 10. But not without dire consequences. Two people are pressumed dead, ten were arrested, and many were injured, ranging from minor to fatal. Officials are not positive, but they think that the failed uprising was sudden, not planned. It started in one of the major cattle fields near the edge of the District square and worked its way through the city. The Peacekeepers were called in right before a mob reached the Mayor's house. President Nicola said that he fears that because of this, other Districts are going to start getting brave and attempt the same thing. He and his adviors are coming up with a method to stop this once and for all. The proposal will be announced tomorrow night unless told otherwise."_

While they were telling the story, they had been playing footage that the city's cameras had managed to get. They showed people beating each other up, tearing down signs and banners, and breaking store windows and doors. Some of the people had let the livestock out, and there were animals all in the street, some stomping all over people, some just laying in the middle of the street. I even saw people riding on the backs of cows and horses and donkeys. But the worst image of all was when the crowd of Peacekeepers came in and started shooting people as they came near. A few of the citizens managed a few good hits to the Peacekeepers themselves. However, it wasn't enough to make a difference. Two people were dead. More probably would be by tomorrow afternoon from getting trampled and shot. It was almost deju vu... Almost like.

"Sapphire," Sutton says, gently shaking my shoulder. "Sapphire, what is it? What's wrong?"

I look at him and realize I had started crying. I wipe the tears from my cheeks and stand up roughly. "I- I really need to go home, Sutton," I stutter. Without waiting for his response, I run out of his bedroom and out of his house. I run down the streets and to Victor's Square. I burst through the door and call loudly, "Haymitch!"

I hear a grumble and the clank of a glass. "I'm in here, sweetheart," I hear him slur from the kitchen. I go into it and sitting him sitting at the island a glass of some clear liquid in his hand. I inwardly hope it's water.

"So you heard, hm?" he asks me. "What did I tell you? Don't come crying to me when it happens."

I roll my eyes at him. "We haven't gotten the Hunger Games back, Haymitch," I say, annoyed. "So technically I have nothing to cry to me about."

He laughs without humor. "Yes," he slurs. "Because you just come running into my house screaming my name like you're dying on any given day, right? I know what you're here for, sweetheart, and that's advice. Well, here's the best advice I can give you right now." He gets up and starts rummaging through his cabinets. Finally, he sets down a whiskey glass, letting it clink on the table. He pours spirits into it and slides it towards me on the table. I stare at it.

"I'm not going to take towards your lowlife revolution to your problems," I snarl, pushing the glass back towards him. "I came here for real advice. Now give it to me."

Haymitch smirks. "Your mother said the same thing. Well, close anyway. Look, you're young, any day could be your last. This might be your last opportunity to do this." He pushes the spirits back towards me. "Go ahead."

I consider what he said. To drink or not to drink? I pick up the glass and sniff it for a second. Haymitch is watching me expectantly. As much as I hate to do it, I put the glass to my lips and turn it up, letting the liquid pour into my mouth. I swallow and cough as it burns my throat on the way down.

He smiles, satisfied. "Yes," he says, topping both our glasses off. "You'll get used to that. Trust me."

I smirk and take another gulp. "So, what will my parents think if I come home drunk?" I ask, watching carefully as he takes a swig himself. "Surely, they won't approve of this."

He shrugs, putting his glass down. "You can stay here with me. We can just drink all night like the crazy people we are!"

I smile wider as I pore more in my glass. "Sounds like a winner to me." We tap our glasses together with a clink and take another drink, my trying not to hack my lungs up as it goes down.

I can see why Haymitch does this for once. But it's not something I would stoop to. I hope there's never anything that causes me to have to stoop to anything.

* * *

**A/N: Short? Yes. Filler? Kinda. Tired? Absolutely! Sorry about it being so short too. I think I'm getting sick, & I knew I wanted to do this chapter but I just wasn't sure how. So this is what you get for now. Remember the updating method:**

**4 or more reviews: tomorrow  
3 reviews: in 3 days  
2 reviews: one week  
1 review: two & a half weeks  
0 reviews: next month**

**So review, please?**

**-AG**


	6. Chapter 6: You Can't Stop Them

**A/N: So, normally for the updating I would give you guys 24 hours to review. You guys have one more hour, & I have only gotten 3 so far. But since it's Labor Day, I'm feeling generous. So here's Chapter Six.**

* * *

**SIX**

"Sapphire, honey, are you alright? Sapphire, wake up, sweetie." The words pound in my head and ricochete off the walls of my skull when they finally come through.

I peel my eyes open and look around. I am lying on the floor in a living room that is not mine. Father is standing over me, looking at me worriedly. "Sapphire, are you okay?" he asks me again. It seems unnaturally loud and hurts my ears.

"Why you yellin'?" I slur. I keep looking around, trying to make sense of my surroundings. Where the heck am I? This isn't Sutton's house... It definately isn't the house in the Seam.

Father looks over at something, and shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She's hungover," he says to something I can't see. "We'd better get her home as soon as possible."

"_Haymitch Abernathy!" _someone yells. It sounds like a sonic boom to my ears, and I roll over on my side, holding my head to keep it from splitting open as I just now feel a massive headache coming on. Then, I remember what happened.

Haymitch comes stumbling in, blinking several times. "Can I not just get a morning of peace?" he mumbles, holding himself up against his recliner.

Mother stomps into my view, stopping a few feet from Haymitch. "How dare you get my daughter drunk!" she yells at him. "She's fifteen! What kind of sicko does that?"

He smirks and sits down in the chair. "You do remember, sweetheart, that you did the exact same thing when you were not much older than her. History repeats itself through strange ways."

Mother turns bright red as she turns and kneels down in front of me. "You're grounded," she says simply before helping me to my feet. Looking down at myself, I see that I am wearing an oversized, stained button up over my own clothes that is definately not mine.

"Hang on," I say before we start walking. I run to Haymitch's bathroom quickly and hack my guts up.

* * *

I wake up in my own bed in my own room with my own terrible migraine. I sit up and look at my clock on my nightstand. It is only 9:57 PM, but I do not feel like going downstairs as I feel like I am going to be sick. I turn my television on, rubbing my temples so that when I see it, I won't have a brain explosion. I finally open my eyes and see that the news is on.

_"President Nicola will be announcing his decision on how to keep the citizens or Panem in line," _the announcer says. I lean forward in interest, a knot forming in my stomach that's not from the hangover. _"We go to the Capitol building live to hear this proposal."_

The scene changed from Capitol Studios to big room filled with people and a big stage with a podium on it. Behind the podium was none other than our "beloved" president. And from what I hear, he's not one to babble before he gets to the point, which is good for impatient people like me.

_"Because of past events," _President Nicola says, already making my want to rip his throat out, _"I fear that there will be more attempts at uprising. So to save more lives, we have to come to a conclusion. A conclusion that was successful for our ancestors."_

My heart clenches as I prepare for what he is about to say. I don't need to hear the next line to know.

_"The Hunger Games," _he says. _"A way to show power to the citizens. We're bringing them back. Hopefully only once."_

I don't hear what he says next because, despite the wave of nausea it brings me, I run out of my room and down the stairs. "Mother!" I call. "Father!" Father steps out into the foyer as he hears me. I slam into him and wrap my arms around him. "Don't let them take me, Father. Don't let them take me. They're going to reap me. I know it."

He brings me into the living room where Mother is and sets me into his lap as he sits on the couch. "No one is going to reap you," he whispers. "I won't let them."

I shake my head into his shoulder, crying. I am grateful that Bey is not downstairs to see me. "You can't stop them," I say. "You can't, and you know it!"

"Sapphire-"

"She's right, Peeta," Mother interrupts, staring out of the window. "Neither of us can stop them. But Sapphire, I'll tell you what you can do. Rebel. Never stop. Anything you can twist, twist."

I look up at her, my headache worsening from my crying. "Can't they just kill me if I do, though?" I ask her.

She snorts. "Your father and I are still here, aren't we? I know you can do this."

I don't know how I can make her see that not everyone is capable of doing this. But I know I'm am going to try to do as she says. Because none of the kids in the arena will deserve to be there, and even if I don't succeed, I can do everything in my power to stop it.

* * *

"No!" I sit up, grasping the fabric of my bed. My breathing is heavy, and my heartbeat is racing. I can't believe my worst nightmare is going to come true. It has been two nights since Nicola announced that they are bringing the Hunger Games back. I bury my face in my pillow & scream as not to wake my parents up. It doesn't help. The walls still feel like they are closing in on me and the air seems heavy.

I slip my hunting jacket on and sneak out the window. However, I am not going to Sutton's house this time. I run through the woods, looking for a very certain place. I would have brought my bow and arrow but night hunting is illegal. More and more Peacekeepers are coming to the district, and I'm not sure what would happen if I came through the streets with game in the late night.

I slow down when I see the little shack that I found one day when I was playing around. I open up the makeshift door and step inside. The air seems cleaner and easier to breathe. I close my eyes and lean back on the wall, trying not to fall asleep.

I can't believe that this is actually happening. Nicola said that they were doing this to save more lives. How is putting 26 children into a closed arena to fight to the death saving more lives. That's just 25 more people dead. And what if I'm not reaped? How would I stop it then? I could volunteer. Yes. I will volunteer no matter who gets reaped. And then-

The door to the shack opens up. I quickly grab the closest thing to me that can be used as a weapon. I doubt it is Mother or Father as I am the only one who knows of this place.

A dark figure steps inside and jumps when it sees me. I stand up, my broken limb at ready in case they jump me or something. They keep coming forward and stop right in front of me. "Is it okay if I sit with you?" they ask me.

They step in front of the window, and the moonlight allows me to see his face. My eyes widen as realization strikes me. "Gale Hawthorne?" I mumble.

* * *

**A/N: Bam. Bet you didn't see that. Okay. Maybe some of you did. Chapter Six arrives early. Everyone be happy!  
Uh... I really need to lay off the sugar... This chapter looked longer in my mind. Sorry it's so short.  
Reviews:**

**4 or more: tomorrow  
3: 3 days  
2: 1 week  
1: 2 & a half weeks  
0: next month  
Review, please?**

**Happy Labor Day, guys!  
-AG**


	7. Chapter 7: Lose Your GodComplex

**A/N: Hey, guys! So after a talk with one of my good friends (who is also a writer - not on here, though) they convinced me to lift the new updating method. Just because tons of people read my story & don't review it or follow it doesn't mean I can't make those who do waiting. And I can promise you, if I wait to post a chapter, & I already have an idea for it, I will lose it quick.  
So be happy because here's Chapter 7**

* * *

"Gale Hawthorne?" I mumble, making the man's face out. The chiseled features, the dark hair, the grey eyes that are so much like my mother's hidden behind glasses.

He nods. "Yes," he says evenly. "But you didn't answer my question. Is it okay if I sit with you?"

I look at him for a little bit longer, looking at my options. I could be sleeping with the enemy here. Not literally but...

I shrug and slide back down the wall, trying to appear relaxed and calm though now I am anything but. I close my eyes and hear him slide down beside me. "So how do you know about this place?" he asks. "Katniss show you?"

My eyes shoot open, and I look at him, searching his face for any kind of fault. He seems to be asking me as a sincere question. I shake my head. "I found it myself," I say simply. Like I said before, I'm not much for talking.

He smiles and looks around the room. "I'm surprised this place is still standing," he says. "Your mother and I used to come out here all the time. There was many a day when I would come out here and find her crying about her father. I hated seeing her so broken."

I, too, look at the old browning walls covered in soot, the ceiling covered in water damage, the broken windows, the little fireplace. This was a place he and Mother had shared as children. Gale and Katniss. Not Peeta and Katniss. They actually _had _something together at one point in time. Before I can stop the words, they come out of my mouth. "Why did you leave her?"

He looks at me abruptly, flabbergasted. "Ex- Excuse me?"

I slowly look at him, trying to keep my face emotionless. "My mother," I say slowly. "Why did you leave her? You told her you love her and then you just picked up and left. Why?"

His face goes from shocked to hurt to sad. He looks down at his hands shamefully. "Some things are hard to explain."

I lay on my stomach and look up at him expectantly - like I used to whenever Grandmother would tell me a story when she came to visit. "I love stories. I have time." I smile a very fake smile that even the most gulliable person would be able to see through.

He sighs and leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees. "It's true that I loved your mother very much. And I knew that she loved me too. I also knew that she loved Peeta very much. I saw the way that they looked at each other, the way they kissed. The way that she cried whenever she thought he was going to die. The light it brought to her face whenever she saw him coming. I also saw the way she looked at me. And while she still looked at me like she loved me, she didn't look at me like she looked at Peeta. For me, it was just love. For Peeta, it was like want, need, die without. I thought that after your father was captured by the Capitol and when we got him back and he was crazy, I would have a chance at your mother. But I finally realized Peeta needed her more than I did. _She _needed _Peeta _more than she needed _me. _So, I finally let my mockingjay go. And now she's happy. And I have always wanted nothing more than that."

I stare at him. Normally I would have thought that it was a bunch of bullcrap. However, I saw the emotion written on his face as he said it. And as much as I wanted to hate him, at that moment I couldn't. He looked broken and hopelessly in love. In fact for a moment, I _did _forget why I hate him. Then, I remember.

I sit back up and glare at him. "What about the bombs?" I snarl. "The bombs in Capitol Square."

Now he's glaring back at me. His glare is worse than mine. I cringe inside but keep my composure. "I know everyone thinks that those are my fault. But I promise you they're not."

I deepen my glare, showing him silently that I am not pleased with his excuse. He runs a hand through his short hair and readjusts his glasses. "Yes, they were my prototype," he says, almost growling, "but do you honestly think I would order for them to be released on hundreds of innocent children? On District Thirteen medics? On _Primrose _of all people?" His voice continues to rise until it is almost a shout. I am taken aback by his tone. He takes a few deep breaths, seeming to calm himself. "I know that there's no way I can prove this to you, but I promise I would _never _hurt your family like that. Your mother, your grandmother, your father, even you. I loved Primrose like she was my own sister. Who would hurt their own?"

I cringe physically this time as the words of the last statement pierce through me. In a very short while, I may have to hurt my own. My baby brother. The one who's life I treasure most.

The two of us are silent for several moments. Embarrasingly breaking the silence is the growl of my stomach. Funny. I'm never hungry in the middle of the night. I look at Gale, who is smirking. He pulls something out of his bag and hands me a piece of bread. I look up at him. "I forgot I brought," he says in an amused voice. He takes a bite of his, inhaling in pleasure.

I nibble on my own. I recognize it as my father's. He must have bought it eariler in the day as it is slightly stale. I smile, thinking of all my failed attempts at perfecting the recipe on my baking days with Father. At how Mother made us clean the kitchen up after having a food fight in the kitchen one day, how she smiled through her anger at our childishness. I sure am going to miss that.

I slip out of my trance and look up to see Gale smiling at me. "What?" I ask, wiping my face to make sure I don't have crumbs all over my mouth.

He shakes his head and continues to smile. "I just think about how strange it is that Katniss and I used to do this sort of thing. And now here I am, doing it with her daughter," he says. His grey eyes meet my eyes. "Only thing is you look more like Peeta than you do Katniss."

I smile slightly. "Well, I guess history just repeats itself in strange ways, hm?"

He shrugs. "Guess so." He wipes the crumbs off his shirt and leans back on the wall. "Any more questions you want to bombard me with?" I can tell he is joking, but I do have one more.

"Why are you here?" I ask him quietly. _When two of your three children could be Reaped in a little more than a week, _I add mentally.

"You mean here as in right here or in District 12?" he asks without looking at me. His face takes a sudden sadness that makes me wonder if it was a bad thing to ask.

"Both."

I am not looking at him, but I can feel him looking at me. "I always came out here when I needed to think," he says quietly. "I really needed to clear my head a bit tonight so I came out here. And saw a visitor waiting for me surprisingly." I roll my eyes as I can practically hear the smirk in his voice. "And sometimes it's just nice to get back to your roots."

"And so you thought this was the best time to cling to those roots again. When everything was going downhill and terrible?" I am surprised at how even I am keeping my voice as I say these things. "Probably because you figured it would be just like it used to, right? We're all in poverty, the Hunger Games are coming back-"

"Yes," he interrupts. "The Hunger Games are the reason I am here." As I turn to look at him, he elaborates. "You're supposed to be Reaped in whatever District you were born in. My son, Chisel, was born in District 12 since my wife went into labor with him while we were visiting here. She's back at District 2 with Micah and Giovanni."

I ask the stupidest question possible. "Are you worried about the Reaping?"

He shrugs. "I know that Chisel will be okay. After all-"

I interrupt him, not looking at him now. "Lose your God-complex," I say emotionlessly.

"Excuse me?" he says, sounding a bit angry.

I laugh without humor. "Yes, we all know that Bey and I will probably be the ones Reaped for District 12. But even if Bey isn't the one who gets Reaped, I can assure you that Chisel will be the one accompaning me. You were as big a part of the Revolution as Mother and Father were. The Capitol saw the bombs you made. They know Chisel will be worth something. He doesn't have much more of a chance to be safe as Beowulf does. Best to lose your hope now than be upset when it happens."

"I was going to say I know he'll be okay because he'll have a fighter in there with him," he says, his voice dripping with emotion I can't regonize. Not hurt, not anger... I can't put my finger on it... "And I know that he'll be behind them every step of the way me he'll support them no matter what. He's not happy about his either." Here, he pulls down his sleeve and looks at his watch. "I had better get going."

He picks himself up and starts out the door, leaving me by myself. But before he leaves completely, he says, "If you're anything like you mother, I know you can make great things happen, Sapphire. Don't forget what blood runs through your veins."

I smile a bit at this. He turns to leave again. "Gale," I call quietly. He looks at me. "Don't think this means I hate you any less."

His eyes turn sad. With a nod, he finally leaves. As he shuts the door behind him, I am plunged into a cold loneliness that didn't exist before he came in.

* * *

I decide to use the front door instead of my window. One, because I didn't have the energy. Two, because almost every light in the house was on. I try to turn the doorknob and find it is locked. So, I have to knock.

After about ten minutes of standing there, feeling like an idiot having to wait for the door to my own house to be opened, it finally does. And standing there is my father with his bathrobe on over his pajamas. He squints at me at first, then drags me into house, pressing my head to his chest like a was a little baby. "Katniss!" he yells, still holding me. "Sapphire's home! She's here!"

Mother comes running down from the stairs into the foyer were Father and I are standing. "Oh, Sapphire!" she exclaims, making Father release me so she can also embrace me. "Sweetheart, don't you ever do that to us again, running off on your own without telling anyone. You scared us!"

"We thought someone had gotten you," Father adds, standing next to us. Mother finally lets me go and looks at me. "What were you thinking?" she says, sounding hurt and relieved at the same time.

I ignore her question and simply state, "Gale Hawthorne is in town."

Both my parents stare at me, open-mouthed. Finally, Father speaks up. "Yes, I know." He hangs his head like he is ashamed.

I turn to Mother. "Did you know too?" I ask her.

Her eyes become soft. "Yes, yes, I did," she says quietly.

I cross my arms over my chest, feeling a hot anger coming through me. "And neither of you thought this information was important to tell me?" I say, not missing a beat. "The man I hate second most - next to Nicola - and you don't bother to tell me? I thought I could trust you guys.

"That's why I couldn't tell you," Mother says, building her courage back up. "Not because you can't trust us (you can), but because you hate him. Why would I add to your distress by letting you know that your worst enemy in here?"

I open my mouth to say something, but close it as I realize I do not have a good reason. I mumble that I am going to bed, feeling betrayed and angry.

Is there anyone I can trust these days?"

* * *

**A/N: Chapter 7 = complete. Hope you guys liked it. I was really excited for this chapter. While I was writing it, I was listening to Pandora. Strangely enough, ****_Barton Hollow _****& ****_Kingdom Come _****by The Civil Wars came on. So did ****_Awake My Soul _****by Mumford & Sons, which I found slightly fitting. So you can imagine the inspiration I had when I wrote this.**

**Oh, and you guys should check out my new story, ****_Broken Angel. _****Sure, it doesn't exactly match the events in the book. But I really wanted to write a song-fic to it. I found Johanna as the most fitting character for it.**

**Review please.**

**-AGEless**


	8. Chapter 8: The Cat Always Wins

**A/N: It's here! It's here, it's here, it's here!  
What's here, you may ask. Well, shut up and read the chapter!**

* * *

**EIGHT **

I didn't stay mad at my parents. I couldn't have. I realize that they were just doing it to protect me. And how could I stay mad at them for that?

I can't believe that this is actually happening. This isn't happening. But as I feel the cotton fabric of my dress and tenderly touch my hair and caress my face, I realize that this is real. This is really happening to me.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror as Mother carefully pins my silky hair out of my face. Father watches sadly from the doorway, his blue eyes never tearing from mine. Finally, he smiles sadly, shifts from his prosthetic leg to his real one, and says, "Maybe the odds will be in our favor. Maybe both you and Bey will be safe and get to stay here."

I smile back at him though I have to force it. I can hear the false hope in his voice, and I know he knows I hear it. Bey calls for him, and he reluctantly leaves the room to find his son.

Mother sticks the last pin in and turns me to face her. She has always been short, and I got Father's tallness so she comes to about my neck. I stare down at her solemn face and see her as the forty-seven-year-old she is instead of the sixteen-year-old girl in the Hunger Games.

"Sapphire," she says slowly, "I want you to remember that just because you are my daughter does not mean that you are going to get reaped. You have as much a chance as all the other girls do. I think if you believe that you won't get reaped then it'll come true. The day that Prim got reaped, I had a bad feeling that she would and she did. So keep faith that you are going to be fine and you will be. Alright?"

I nod, smiling slightly at her, not letting it show that I don't believe her. Everything from the reaping to the tribute tour is all one big game. It doesn't start and end at the arena like everyone thinks it does. Twenty-four (twenty-six now) children are set up as mice and President Nicola is the cat. That's all this is: a game of cat and mouse. And everyone knows that cat wins every time.

"Katniss, Sapphire?" Father says, peering around the door. "Are you two ready? We're going to be late."

Mother turns to me and I nod at her. I am ready. Ready to get it over with and go to my death.

The district square is filled with more people than I thought could fit. So many that I was starting to get sick from the whirly mix mass of blonde and black, tan and pale, blue and grey. Luckily, I had Father and Mother with me to direct me where to go and what to do.

After what seemed like an eternity, I was finally with the girls in my age group. They all stare at me as I push my way to the front mumbling things like, "That's Katniss Everdeen's daughter" "I bet she's going to get reaped" "That poor girl. I can't believe how hard this must be for her and her parents." I ignore them all and look around. I meet several pairs of eyes in my searching. Mother's, Father's, Bey's, Sutton's, and finally Gale Hawthorn's. We hold our gaze for a very long time. His grey Seam eyes were so intense and burning with so much anger, I thought they were going to burn my own eyes. I look away as music plays from the stage.

There are five chairs on stage and seated in them are Mayor Jem Francisca, our district escort Wynona Blanch, Haymitch, Father, and finally Mother. Francisca steps up to the microphone, smiling all the while.

"Welcome," his voice booms through the speakers. "And happy Hunger Games. Today we will be reaping our two District Twelve tributes for the 77th Hunger Games."

Several mumbles came from the crowd around us. Most of them disapproving.

"The Hunger Games were a successful event," he continues as if he hadn't heard them. "That is until the Revolution."

Here, Mother and Father both blush. Father takes Mother's hand, tapping his prosthetic leg as he has a habit of doing when he's nervous.

"The Revolution was also successful for a while. But with the current events that have happened President Nicola has seen it best that we bring back the Hunger Games to keep things in order as they used to be, if only for a year. With that said, please welcome your district escort. Ms. Wynona Blanch."

The woman steps up as Francisca takes his seat once again. Though she does not look as wild and overdressed as Effie Trinket did, her clothes are still eye-piercingly bright, and her smile is way too cheery for an event where twenty-six children are about to kill each other.

"Welcome," she repeats Mayor Francisca's greeting. "And happy Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor."

The crowd was painstakingly quiet. A silence that could kill. Death is definitely in the air.

"Let us continue." She moves over to the bowl on the right side of the stage. "Ladies first."

My heart clenches as Wynona runs her hand through the bowl. It seems like an eternity before she picks one out and returns to the microphone.

_I have not been reaped, _I repeat in my mind. _I have not been reaped. I have not been reaped. I am not going to the Hunger Games._

She unfolds the paper, and her eyes widen slightly. I wonder what is on it. I wonder if it is bad that I wish it were someone other than me.

Wynona's pink lips spread in a smile as she reads the name. "Sapphire Mellark."

There are gasps from around the crowd but not as many as you would think. They echo in my head as they ring out.

I am frozen. I cannot move. My feet are bolted to the ground. I don't know where I am. I am not longer in District Twelve. I am somewhere else.

Someone grabs my arm and tugs me gently. I come back to my senses and look at the Peacekeeper who is watching me sympathetically. "I'll escort you up, miss," he says ever so quietly.

I move like a robot up to the stage, the Peacekeeper never letting go of my arm. He is probably afraid I am going to pass out. I feel like I am going to pass out any minute.

I slowly walk up the stairs. Wynona holds her hand out to me. I reluctantly take it, barely remembering how I got there in the first place. She drops it and speaks into the device that my brain sluggishly reminds me is called a microphone.

"Now for the boys," she says. She repeats the process as she reaches into the bowl. I watch apathetically as she pulls one out and returns to her spot.

She slowly opens the paper and reads it. "Beowulf Mellark."

"No!" I hear my parents yell from somewhere behind me. They sound broken, hurt, betrayed.

Now everything is moving very fast. I watch as a Peacekeeper walks over to the twelve-year-old boys' area and retrieves a boy with blond hair. They walk to the stage, my brother looking hurt, confused, scared.

They reach the steps when a deep voice calls out, "I volunteer!"

* * *

**A/N: IT'S HERE! Now, we're getting somewhere! It seemed longer on Microsoft. I'm just glad that this is finished and all I had to do was copy and paste because I have to make a comic for English & a map for World Geography, then I have to go to church. I might post the next chapter when I get home as I already have that written out too.  
I'm so happy! I've been waiting to post this! Who do you guys think volunteered? (It might be kind of obvious but...)**

**May the odds be ever in your favor!  
-AG**


	9. Chapter 9: Run As Far As You Can

**A/N: Hmm... Two udpates in one day? Yes, indeed. This chapter is short, I admit. I'm trying not to make them short, but I don't want them to be really long. I'll try to start making them longer, I promise. Anyway. Here's chapter 9.**

* * *

**NINE **

"I volunteer!"

I look up and realize that I had somehow ended up on my knees, my head hanging in sorrow.

I see a boy step out from the eighteen-year-old boys' area. "I volunteer as tribute," he repeats. "Spare the boy, take me."

I gape at him, thinking he is crazy for wanting to do this but grateful at his willingness to step up for my little brother's life. Is that wrong?

As if it could, the silence got more eerie. I thought my eardrums were going to burst from silence.

Finally, Wynona broke it. "I'm sorry," she says slowly. "We are-"

"Most definitely taking volunteers," Mayor Francisca finishes, stepping beside her. "Let the boy come forward!"

A couple of Peacekeepers step up to the boy and push him roughly on the back, making him walk. I don't look at his face as I slowly stand up.

I look over at Bey, who is looking dumbfounded at the stairs before him. His eyes meet mine. I mouth one word to him. He nods and obeys, streaking towards the woods. What was my one word? Run. _Run as far as you can, Beowulf, _I think as I watch him. _Run to safety and never turn back._

I hear footsteps from the right side of the stage and keep looking forward as they get closer. They stop not far from me. There seems to be a long pause before Wynona speaks. "And so we have a volunteer," she chirps happily, making my stomach churn. "What is your name?"

I do not look but hear a sigh and can almost feel the sadness on the boy's face. "My name is," he says slowly, "is Chisel Hawthorne."

I let out a small gasp and look over at him. He does not look like the thirteen-year-old boy I met five years ago. No. The Chisel I met was lanky, short, and awkward with blotchy skin and dark blond hair falling limply around his round baby face. This Chisel standing before me was lean and muscular with at least a five-inch advantage to my five-foot-ten stature. His hair had taken more to a light brown than a blonde and was thick and soft looking, barely reaching his almost black eyes. His face had none of the baby fat it did before, and his chiseled cheekbones were highlighted by a nice, even tan as dark as Mother's. But I was still remembering him as the strange boy I knew and hated. And I wonder if he's remembering me as the evil ten-year-old girl who punched him when he tried to kiss me.

"Your District Twelve tributes!" Wynona exclaims, taking our hands and raising them in the air, snapping me out of my thoughts. She let them down and turns us to face each other. "Shake hands please."

Chisel's eyes meet mine with as much intensity as his father's. He smiles sadly at me and holds his hand out. I slowly, robotically take it, not feeling anything as we shake. I don't have the ability to feel anything at the moment.

We face the crowd again. There is no cheering. There is no sound. Just sympathetic looks and heads hanging in shame. Then, everything snaps into perspective. I am not having a nightmare. I am not going to wake up and be safe in bed. I am not going to be sitting in my living room watching children kill each other.

Because I am going into the Hunger Games. And I will have a front row, up close and personal seat. And I might not survive through the show.

* * *

**A/N: So short... I think it's the shortest in here. And hopefully it'll stay that way. I already have most of 10 written out. Hopefully, I'll have it posted tomorrow. This is all for now. Night, guys.**

**-AGEless**


	10. Chapter 10: Trust Even Those You Hate

**A/N: Hi, readers! (slaps mosquito) Yeah. Those are really bad in my area right now. One of the many reasons why I feel like poo right now.  
Luckily, feeling like poo helps me to write more emotional chapters... I think... Unfortunately, I ****_do _****feel like poo. And who likes that? Exactly!  
But anyway, here's the chapter!**

* * *

**TEN**

A little while later, I am somehow in a room in the Justice Building. Sunshine fills the room through the windows, but it just makes everything seems duller and more horrible. There are Peacekeepers waiting outside the door to let my visitors in. I don't suspect that I will have that many visitors. Maybe my family and Sutton. That's it.

The door opens and three people walk in. "Five minutes," a Peacekeeper tells them before shutting the door again.

A little blonde ball slams me back against the chair I'm sitting in. "You can't go, Sapphire," it sobs.

I stroke Bey's hair, trying to will him to calm down. "Shh," I whisper. "It's okay. It's alright." I adjust him in my lap so he can face me. He is short like Mother so this does not bother me much. "I'm going to be okay."

He shakes his head against my shoulder. "No, you're not," he says quietly. "You're not going to be okay. You can't go. It's not fair. Please, Sapphire."

I look up at our parents, trying to get them to help me. Something in their eyes tells me that I'm going to have to deal with this on my own. I grab Bey's shoulders and push him back. I lift his chin so he has to look at me. "Listen carefully," I say sternly. "Even if I don't make it out, I will always be with you, okay? And while you're at Grandmother's I don't want you watching the Games, alright?"

He looks up at me with sad grey eyes. "Why not?"

I smile at him. "Because you are going to remember me always. And if you're going to remember me I want you to remember me as a happy, healthy sister. One that sang you to sleep when you were afraid. One that tackled you into a hug every day when you came home from hunting with Mother. I don't want you to remember me as a sister who was in the Games. Because I don't want the memory of me and the other children in the arena stuck in your head. Promise me that you won't watch it, okay?"

He nods and wraps his arms around me. He goes back to stand with Father as Mother steps forward. She takes my hands in hers and looks at them sadly. When she withdrew them, I saw something shiny in my palm. I open my hand and see that it is the legendary mockingjay pin. "Oh, Mother," I mumble. "I can't take this."

She pushes my hand back as I try to give it to her. "No," she says. "It always gave me good luck. I think it's time that I pass it down to the next generation."

For some reason, the words "next generation" dug deeper into my mind than she probably intended them to.

I stand up and press her into the tightest hug I could manage. Mother and I were always close but not as much either of us would like. We just clash too much. "Show them who you truly are," she whispers in my ear. "Even if you think you aren't the best person, they may think otherwise. Don't doubt yourself. That won't get you anywhere." She kisses my forehead and steps back. She takes Beowulf by the hand and they walk out, leaving just Father and me.

There are tears in his blue eyes. My blue eyes. I had always been more my father's child than my mother's child. We had always been closer.

He sits down beside me and takes me in his arms, cradling my head against his chest as if I were his little newborn daughter again like he did a week and a half ago. I believed for a second that as long as my daddy held me in his arms, nothing bad could ever come to me.

But sometimes, that sort of thing is just shot down by reality isn't it?

He buries his face in my hair and cries. I feel tears streaming down my own face as his soak my head. He finally pulls back and looks at me. "I'm sorry."

All I could do was nod in understanding. He is probably about to lose his only daughter. I don't think anyone can blame him for that.

"Mother and I are going to be with you through everything until you go into the arena," he says to me. "We've been selected for mentors. So luckily we don't have to say goodbye just yet."

I sigh and wipe a tear from his face. "But we both know we might as well prepare for it," I say, a new flood of tears forming in my eyes. "There's no guarantee that I'm going to win just because I'm your daughter."

Father shakes his head, wisps of hair coming out of their places. "No," he agrees. "There's not. But, Sapphire, do you know what blood runs through your veins? Leader's blood. You have the ability to lead. And I believe that you have the ability to lead us out of these times just as Katniss did."

"Father-"

His pupils dilate, and he grabs my wrist roughly. I am about to jump away from him in case of an attack, but instead he pulls me closer. "Promise me that once you are in the arena that you will do everything in your ability to stop this madness once again."

I gulp, afraid of my father's words. But I nod and say dryly and weakly, "I promise."

"You're going to need allies. This isn't something you can do alone. Trust even those you hate."

The two Peacekeepers burst into the room and stand at my father's side. "Time's up," one of them says gruffly.

They escort my father out. Looking at the clock, I see they actually gave us more than five minutes – a final gesture of kindness towards a girl who is about to lose her life.

The door opens once more to let another person in. Sutton.

I stand up and embrace him. "I'm so sorry, Sapphire," he mumbles.

I lean back to look at him. "What do you mean?" I ask him, raising an eyebrow.

"I should have been the one to volunteer for Bey's place," he says. "Me. Not stupid Chisel Hawthorne. If anyone knows how to take care of you while you're in that arena, it's me. I can't believe that I just let this slip through my hands. After all this time-"

I stop him by taking his face in my hands gently as if it is made of glass. His eyes are red with tears that he does not let escape. He's been my right-hand-man since we were old enough to walk. He's the one person that I trust with all my secrets – the only one I am able to confide them to. I vowed I would never let anything hurt him. However, I can tell that this is killing him.

I lightly move my hands from his face to his shoulders. "Sutton," I say slowly, "don't you _ever _say that you wish that you would have volunteered for Bey. Don't you _ever_ regret that you didn't. You and Bey are the last two people that I would want in that nightmare with me. I'm _glad _you didn't volunteer. If you were coming with me, I wouldn't be able to handle myself." A stray tear escapes my eyes. I swipe at it quickly before it can fall. However, this just starts the waterworks all over again.

Sutton's hand gently cups the back of my neck. He pulls my head in to touch his forehead. I realize that we are now sitting as he is usually taller than me when we sit down together. His thumb slowly traces the top of my cheekbone. It leaves behind a cold trail as he moves it back and forth. I look down, not able to look at his eyes. I finally tell him what I have never been able to tell him before.

"When I was twelve," I begin hesitantly, "I watched the Hunger Games for the first time. And ever since then, I have this nightmare where I'm in the arena, and I'm fighting for my life." I can feel his muscles tensing, his rubbing becoming harder. His forehead tightens, telling me he is pressing his eyebrows together. "Sometimes it would warp and the events would be different or happen in a different order, but there were two things that always stay the same." Before he has a chance to ask what, I tell him. "One is that I killed Bey who was put in the Games to taunt me. Two is that you were chasing me, trying to kill me."

Here, he seems completely frozen and statue-like. I look up into his eyes. They are like steel, hard and solid, not giving anything away. This makes me cringe inside as this is very unlike Sutton. He is always an open book, the easiest person for me to read. And now I can't see anything. But his eyes slowly start to melt as he speaks. "I would never hurt you, Sapphire," he says quietly but intensely. "Not for anything in the world."

I do not see how close our proximity is until he closes the space, and our lips meet. The kiss is slow and soft but passionate. And wrong. It does not feel right kissing Sutton. My theory of him being too much like family is confirmed. It most definitely feels wrong kissing him. However, I let him. I might never get to see him again. And as long as he's safe and happy, I'm okay with that.

The Peacekeepers make him leave after we share a last embrace. A few more people come in – Old Hal and three or four kids from my school that I said a few words to over the years. As they come in and out, I think of my father's words. _Trust even those you hate... _I know I am going to have enemies in the Games. I am going to be careful of who I trust. Trust is one of the keys in this game.

We are escorted to the train, something I have been on only a handful of times in my life. As we board, reporters are already mobbing us. The Peacekeepers chase them away though it is not for very long. Flashes of light from cameras blur my vision as I watch my beloved District 12 fade away.

* * *

**A/N: More Satton! Ha! And everyone says that I'm a hopeless romantic! Wait... Never mind... (slaps another mosquito)  
Hope you guys liked it! Reviews are my motivation! So please, review!**

**-AG**


	11. Chapter 11: Everything Turns To Ice

**A/N: (Checks behind me) Please don't send me to the Hunger Games! I was going to update Friday before my school's football game, but my mom's car was in the shop & right as we were about to leave, we found something else wrong with it. Then, I had to go to audition for a musical at our local theater (which I bombed because my allergies are clogging up my throat). By the time we got home, I had to change out of my school uniform so we could go to the game. Then, I was going to update Saturday, but my friend called me and asked me to stay at her house. Then, on Sunday I went to both morning & night church with her. When I got home, I was feeling sick so I went on to bed. But now, I'm better & free (except I have two Spanish quizzes to study for) so I can update.  
So here it is!**

* * *

**ELEVEN**

Wynona brought me to my compartment on the train. She instructed me to be back at the dining cart in one hour for dinner.

I sat alone in my room. The bed was the most comfortable I had ever felt. However, it was not as comforting as my own. The window was large and so clean it looked as if it wasn't there at all. I watch as trees and mountains and even the occasional animal zip by. But the view will never be as beautiful as the view of the 12's District Square from my bedroom window. I drown myself in these sort of thoughts. How nothing will ever bring me the comfort that home brings me. I had always dreamed of getting out of District 12 and traveling around Panem and even different parts of the world. Just not in this way. We do have to cross most of the country to get from District 12 to the Capitol, but most of the trip will be hollow and meaningless to me.

I pull myself out of my depressing thoughts and decide to start washing up for dinner. After playing with all the buttons and gadgets, I finally figure out how to work the shower and step in, letting the water scorch my skin. Yet the normally comforting heat beating against my back can't melt away the cold feeling that is running through my veins. It's almost like everything I touch turns to ice - cold, hard, and unfeeling.

After what seems like an eternity of standing under the water, I dry off and put on the clothes that are laid out for me. Most people would see them as lovely and would give anything to wear the light blue fabric that I am slipping on. But, though the fabric is the softest silk, it seems uncomfortable and awkward to my skin at the moment. Like I said, everything turns to ice.

I walk out into the hallway just in time to see someone else walk out of theirs. Father smiles a hollow smile and comes over to me. His blond and gray hair is damp like mine, and he seems refreshed. He wraps his long arm around my shoulder and pushes a piece of hair plastered to my forehead back. I bury my face in the fabric of his shirt and breathe deeply. He smells really good.

"Tell me, Sapphire, do I smell like roses?" he says suddenly.

I look at up him to see him smirking. I roll my eyes and playfully hit him on the arm as he pulls out the old joke he used on Caeser Flickerman. "Yes, you do," I answer him, taking another whiff. This causes him to smile bigger. I laugh a bit. "I never said I like how roses smell," I add.

This makes him stop and gape at me as I keep going towards the dining cart. "Wynona's not going to like it if you're late for supper," I tell him. "Oh, and you might want to close your mouth. You're going to catch flies."

I push the door to the cart open as I hear him saying, "I let her be alone with Katniss too long." I smile on the outside but on the inside all I can think is that this might be a good thing. I might have to show the side of me that I inherited from my mother. And let me tell you, it is not pretty.

"Ah, Sapphire, Peeta, so nice you could join us," says Wynona as we enter. She brushes off her bright yellow skirt which just makes her yellowish tone skin seem more yellow.

I mumble a response and sit down in an empty seat. Father takes the seat across for me, reserving the seat beside him for Mother. I silently hope that Haymitch will sit beside me and Wynona at the head of the table on my other side. No way do I want Chisel sitting next to me even if that means sitting between the overhappy escort and the drunkard. Unfortunately, when Haymitch stumbling in, he sits in the chair at the opposite end that I am at.

Mother comes after him, sitting beside Father. She kisses him on the cheek. Then turns to smile at me. "How are you finding things, sweetie?" she asks me. The smile she wears does not match her gray eyes which are full of sadness and regret. I can imagine that there are going to be many nightmares and flashbacks during this "trip."

We sit in the dining cart for several minutes. Chisel still has not arrived. I have considered marching to his compartment and dragging him in here as I can smell the food that has been prepared, and my stomach is growling quietly. Wynona stands impatiently tapping her foot and glancing at the wall clock every ten seconds. Eventually, she throws her hands up in exasperation. "Where can that boy be? I swear, District Twelves-"

"I'm a District Two, actually," a voice behind me says. I jump as I turn and see Chisel standing directly behind my chair. I wonder how he snuck up behind me. I have excellent hearing, training them to hear the smallest noise. He sits in the chair beside me, nodding to me as he lowers himself. I turn away from him and watch Wynona as she huffs and also lowers herself into her chair.

The food is brought out and it takes every fiber of my being not to stuff myself. The food is very rich, and I know that if I eat too much, I will probably make myself sick. As I eat it, I almost feel guilty as I think about all the starving children on the streets of the districts. The lucky ones that aren't going to the Hunger Games yet are so unlucky because here we are getting fattened up for our death while they go hungry for who knows how many more days.

Mother urges me and Chisel to try some of the lamp and plum stew. Lamb and plum does not sound like an appetizing combination to me. Finally, Chisel caves. "I'll try some, Katniss," he mumbles. He turns to me. "Sapphire, will you hand me the pot?"

I do not look at him. I pretend that I did not hear him. This is my tactic for the rest of my time with him. There is no way that I am going to be friends with a Hawthorne. There is no way that I am doing any favors for this boy. Even if he is not as bad as his father, there is no point in making friends right now. We'll all have to say good-bye anyway.

"Sapphire," he repeats, "will you please hand me the stew?"

I continue to ignore him. I then hear an exasperated sigh. I roll my eyes mentally and reach for the pot which contains the stew. Another hand was also reaching for the bowl and bumped into mine as it stretched. An unfamiliar spark went through me as our skin met it. I jerk my hand back quickly as did the other person. I whip my head around to glare at Chisel. "Sorry," he mumbles. "Static electricity." With that, he grabs the pot quickly, scoops out some of the food, and puts it on the other side of the table too far for me to reach.

I nod. "Yeah," I mumble, pushing my plate farther away from me as I suddenly lose my appetite. "That must have been it." He must have felt it too. The spark that ran through me must have jumped through him too. I just hope it was a spark of hatred.

* * *

After dinner, we watch the rest of the Reapings in the parlor. I watch Haymitch, Mother, and Father carefully as the clips play. I notice Haymitch is playing fretfully with his fingers as he does not have a glass to keep them occupied with. He is not allowed to have alcohol in the train or when we get to the Capitol. I turn my attention back to the television. The Reapings play in order of the district numbers. The District 1 tributes look as if they have been training still though for the past thirty or so years they have had nothing to train for. Seeing this, I cast a glance at Chisel. He is muscular and tough-looking but not like these tributes.

He catches me looking and smirks cockily. "Like what you're staring at?" he says.

I snort. "Please," I mumble. "I'm just trying to believe that something as ugly as you truly exists." This earns me a glare from my mother, which causes me to immediately snap my attention back to the television. I hear Chisel snicker as he observes this. I clench my fists by my sides to refrain from making him relive that day five years ago.

A few things catch my attention as we watch the Reapings. Like a handsome boy in District 4 being Reaped and his frantic mother coming on stage begging not to take him. I didn't catch his name. I think it was Ohare, Oclaire... something alond those lines. The girl from District 5's face seemed very familiar to me - somewhere in my memory it was there. But the thing that stood out the most to me was the District 2 Reaping.

_"Giovanni Hawthorne," _their District escort called after he pulled a name from the girls' bowl.

A girl who was no more than thirteen stepped forward. Another girl who looked just like her ran after her. They were twins. Twin 1 pushed Twin 2 off of her and went up on stage.

_"I volunteer!" _an older girl called, rushing out of her age group to go up on the stage. She looked to be about Chisel's age. She was starting to walk up when the escort shook his head.

_"I'm sorry," _he says regretfully. _"It seems that we are not accepting volunteers this year. Ms. Hawthorne, please come up, dear."_

Twin 1 nods and bravely walks up the stairs and stands straight as she faces the crowd. Everyone can tell that there are tears in her eyes though. I respect her for trying to put on a brave facade as she is only thirteen.

All of a sudden, Chisel lets out a yell. He kicks over the closest thing to him which happens to be a chair which hits me in the back of my knees, causing them to buckle. I straighten up and turn on him.

"What's your problem?" I yell at him, feeling myself going red in the face. "You think it's okay to just go around kicking things whenever you feel like it? Who were you raised by, savages?" I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, breathing deeply. "No wait, don't answer that."

He grabs my wrists roughly, prying my hands off of my face, but not hard enough to hurt me. I glare up at him and try to wrench my hands away from his grasp. "Let go of me!" I yell, still trying to get my wrists back though I know it is useless. His grip tightens as I fight him until I let out of pained breath.

Finally, a hand grabs the front of his shirt and roughly yanks him. His captor pushes him against the wall, holding him there. "Don't you ever handle my daughter like that again, do you understand?" my father growls, sounding nothing like himself.

Chisel slowly nodded. "I understand, sir," he says evenly, not even sounding threatened. "It's just that not everyone is as lucky as she is." His black eyes slide from Father's face and meet my own eyes. "Be glad my father made me volunteer for your brother." He pushes Father's hands away and storms away to his compartment.

I stare after him. Gale made his volunteer? He wanted his son to be in the Hunger Games? This does not compute with me. How could someone be so sick and sinister that they would want their child to be in the Hunger Games?

I look around at all the people in the room who are all staring at me. I finally find my voice. "I'm going to go to bed," I say quietly. I retreat to my compartment, hoping for a good night's sleep though I know it will never come. Even sleep seems icy and wicked.

* * *

**A/N: There you go! Hope you liked it! Little bit of a filler, but I hope you guys find something significant in it because it's there. I'm not telling you what. Figure it out for yourself.  
Also I'm thinking about writing a story for the Second Quarter Quell. But I want to know it you guys think I should. Leave your opinion in the reviews. Or you can just review about this chapter. Whichever works for you.**

**-AGEless**


	12. Chapter 12: A Fatal Mistake

**TWELVE**

The Careers were gathered around the tree that I have climbed in. My skin is sticky with sweat, my breathing ragged. I hang on to the trunk for dear life as the leader of the pack sneers up at me, "Come on down, chick on fire." His cold green eyes glint with amusement. "We're not going to hurt you."

I force myself to look down at them once more. They are all smiling up at me like crazy people. This just causes me to tighten my grip though I didn't think it possible. I look back up at the blindingly blue sky, praying that it would suddenly turn dark and lightening would strike the bullies below.

"She's not coming down," one of the girl Careers say. "We might as well camp out right here and wait. She can't stay up there forever."

"I'll get her down," an all-too-familiar voice says. I look down again just in time to see Chisel step out from behind one of the Careers. My eyes widen as he loads a crossbow. He points it upwards at me. I let my grip loosen and start to climb once again though I am already too close to the top for comfort. I have almost reached my goal when something strikes me in my shoulder. Pain shoots through me and the hand that had just reached the branch I was going to pull myself up on releases the rough wooden arm. I begin to fall, a high-pitched noise piercing my ears. My hands grip uselessly for anything I can catch myself on. Finally my palm connects with something... something soft...

I open my eyes and find myself staring at a ceiling that isn't my ceiling at home. I sit up quickly and assess my surroundings. Then, I remember that I am on a train on my way to the Capitol right now. Only there's something wrong. The noise in my dream hasn't stopped. It's not coming from inside my room.

I go out to the hall to investigate. I follow the sound to Mother and Father's compartment. I push their door open and prepare for the worst. I find Mother thrashing in the bed and Father kneeling beside her, saying soothing words to her as her eyes look around wildly. Wynona is also inside of the compartment, barking orders to Father. Though it is nothing new for me, it makes my heart clench seeing them. I wonder if I make it out of this, if I'll end up the same way. None of them notice me so I quietly slip out, continuing down the hall.

I make my way to the parlor, hoping to maybe get a cold drink of water to help calm my nerves. I walk into it. As I do, I notice that the television is on, replaying the Reapings again. Someone is sitting on the couch, watching them. I turn to walk back out but their voice stops me. "Hey, Sapphire."

After my moment of being frozen, I continue to walk quietly back through the door. There is a sigh. "I can hear you, you know," Chisel says without turning to look at me. "It's okay if you want to come in."

I stand half in the room, half out. I finally give in and walk over to the bar. I grab a glass and fill it with ice and water, saying nothing and never looking up as I do. I wonder silently how he heard me when my footfalls were barely audiable. "So, why are you up?" he asks me.

I raise an eyebrow but still refuse to look at him. "I could ask you the same question," I reply, annoyed. I lean back against the bar and take a sip from my glass. Gosh, even the _water _seems richer when it's from the Capitol. "Also, did your father give you, like, superhearing or something?" The idea doesn't sound completely crazy to me as I know that Gale is a very smart man and a great inventor.

He smiles slightly and looks back at the television. "Insomniac," he says simply. "Never been able to sleep a day in my life." Normally, I would be able to read a person easily and tell if they were lying or not, but Chisel's onyx eyes give nothing away. They are like an abyss, swallowing everything up and never letting you see it again. It makes me feel uneasy.

I move over to sit on the other side of the couch. "I had a bad dream," I tell him, taking another mouthful of water so I won't have to answer immediately if he asks about it. Surprisingly, he doesn't. And it's... comforting not having him pulling and prying for answers. He just nods and keeps watching the television.

The District Twelve Reaping plays. _"I volunteer!" _we hear Chisel say, looking strong and sure. Then, the camera pans to me on my knees with my head hung in shame. I look like a person who is being executed on the spot. How coincidental. At that moment, I realize I have already made a fatal mistake by showing the Capitol and the Gamemakers my weakness. My little brother. I reach for the remote. "We don't have to watch this," I mumble.

"No," Chisel protests. He grabs my hand and the same spark that went through me as his grasp tightens on my fingers. I jerk my hand back and rest it on the opposite side of my. He looks down sheepishly. "Sorry," he whispers, "about your wrists."

I look down at them. Though it is hard to tell in the blue light the television gives off, I already have a few small bruises in the shape of fingers. I look back up at him though he is still looking down. "That's alright," I say, surprised as I find I actually mean it. "I've had worse. Plus, I might as well go ahead and toughen up."

We are quiet as we watch the new host of the Games, Vick Treagan, comment on the Reapings. His voice is like a buzz in my head. He comments on Chisel's volunteering for my brother. This makes me remember what he said before. "Why did Gale make you volunteer?" I ask quietly. I look over at him and see him looking at me with the one emotion his eyes can make. Anger and hurt. I realize that I have sailed into forbidden, haunted waters, and that I must turn around quickly. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

His eyes harden again as he looks away. "I'd rather not." We sit in silence even longer. It is awkward and uncomfortable. I shift from one side to the other, probably looking like a crazy person rocking back and forth. I tip my glass up again to find I am out of water. I set my glass down just as Chisel breaks the silence. "I hear someone has their sixteenth birthday coming up," he says, smiling at me.

I sigh and sit back. "I _might _have a sixteenth birthday," I correct him. When he shoots me a confused look, I explain. "We're going to be in the arena on my birthday. I'll have to make it for three days if I want to survive to be sixteen."

"Well, I guess we both have something extra that sucks for us, don't we?" he says bluntly before returning to silence.

I wonder what he means as Vick continues to talk about the tributes. _"Let's take a look at Giovanni Hawthorne, the thirteen-year-old from District Two," _he says. Somehow, this makes me think about something that my brain was probably too jumbled up with emotions to think about earlier today.

"She's your sister, isn't she?" I say, looking at Chisel. His jaw visibly clenches, and he breathes deeply, nostrils flaring out like a bull's. He looks lethal as he glares at me. "Chisel, I'm so sorry. If I would have known-"

"If you would have known?" he repeats angrily but quietly. "Can't you take a hint? I know you're book smart, Sapphire, but I never knew you didn't have common sense. Maybe that's what will get you killed in the arena."

I sit there gaping at him. His eyes widen as he realizes what he just said. He runs a hand through his thick hair, making it stick up everywhere. "I'm sorry," he murmurs as he quickly stands up and walks out of the room, leaving me there by myself.

It looks like I am not the only one who's weakness is their family.

* * *

**A/N: There you are! Chapter 12! And don't worry. I'll get to why Gale made Chisel volunteer. And, yes, I do have something planned out.  
Also, I have posted the first chapter of my new story **_**The Second Quarter Quell. **_**I hope you will like it as much as you like this one.  
Oh, and don't forget to review, guys!**

**-AGEless**


	13. Chapter 13: The Torture Begins

**A/N: HUMPDAY! It's humpday, guys! I've made it through the first half of the week! Hopefully, I'll make it through the second half! So to celebrate (though it's really nothing special) here's Chapter Thirteen!**

* * *

**THIRTEEN**

Something pokes me lightly on my side. "Wake up, Sapphire," my mother's voice cooes. I try to growl though all my vocal chords manage is a pathetic whine. I roll over on my stomach, lying with my face buried in my pillow. Hmm... I thought my pillow was softer than this... The sound of high heels clicking against the floor make my ears prick, and I lay my face to the right facing the wall.

"Miss Mellark, you are supposed to be in your room!" Wynona's voice screeches. "I was about to call the Peacekeepers to come find you!"

I hear Mother sigh. "Now, Wynona, let's not make a big scene out of this," she says. I can tell just by her voice that she is trying to keep her cool. "All she did was fall asleep on the couch. She had a lot of excitement yesterday. I'm sure she's worn out."

I lift my head up and open my eyes. The two women are standing over me, Mother smiles at me while Wynona crosses her arms over her chest as I sit up and look around. Oh, yeah. I fell asleep here after Chisel left. I guess I was too tired to go back to my compartment or something. Wynona grabs my wrists and starts to pull me in the direction of my room. "You must get changed out of your robe and join us for breakfast quickly," she says, sounding irritated. What can I say? I have that effect on people.

My clothes are already laid out for me. These are something that I would pick out. A dark red shirt and soft, flexible biege pants. I slip them on quickly and go to the dining hall, throwing my hair into a quick braid after running my fingers through it. As I enter I see my family, Haymitch, and Chisel are already seated around the table with plates of food. I grab my own and pile it with various fruits, breads, eggs, and meats.

I sit down in the chair across from Chisel. Even as Mother and Father are talking to me, I catch myself glancing at him every so often. He refuses to look at me, much less anything else but his plate as he pushes around its contents, seldom ever putting anything into his mouth. I feel so bad about last night. I want to apologize to him, but I am afraid he will either reject what I say or that I will say the wrong thing. Just because I hate him doesn't mean that I have to say things like that to him. No one deserves such sneers whenever they are possibly about to lose their life.

Finally, the silence is broken whenever Father speaks. "Don't you two have any questions about the arena?" he asks us, his blue eyes concerned. "Any advice you might want?"

I am about to reply when Chisel cuts me off. "What's the best tactic to take when inside the arena?" he says, pushing his plate away from him. He crosses his arms over his chest, his muscles tensing as he prepares for their answer. "Give it to me straight."

"Well, you never know what the arena's going to be like," Mother begins, meeting our eyes as she speaks. She knows I understand this and also knows it's best not to let Chisel know that as it could give him an advantage over me. "So what we say may be the best tactic might-"

"I'll give you the best advice," Haymitch interrupts. Mother glares at him, but he does not notice. "I'll tell you the same thing I told these two almost thirty years ago." He jerks a shaky thumb at my parents and leans forward, looking like a madman with his bloodshot eyes and bed-tumbled hair. "Let history repeat itself a bit. Stay alive." The man gives a satisfied smile as he leans back and shoves more eggs into his mouth.

I feel my eyebrows knit together and the corners of my mouth pull down, forming my signature glare. "_That's _the best you can give us?" I snarl at him. "_Stay alive? _I mean really, Haymitch! As if that isn't obvious. Now how about you give us some real advice? Something that we can actually use." I look over at Chisel again. This time, he is looking at me. Something along the lines of admiration or pity is in his eyes. I can't make it out because as soon as it's there, it falls into the black pits, never to be seen again. Both of us look away quickly. I feel myself turning pink, but as I cast another glance at Chisel, his face is exactly the same as it was before. Indifferent, strong, and difficult to read.

Haymitch's eyes are darting back and forth between the two teenagers before him. A ghost of a smile plays on his lips. "Alliances," he says. "Alliances are always a key point in the games." He looks at me again. "I know your father has already told you that, sweetheart, but you need to hear it again if you're as bullheaded as your mother." I hear Chisel snickering and turn to glare at him. It does not work on him. The only people this has ever failed with are my family and Haymitch. Speaking of Haymitch, he starts to laugh. I look at him again. "Hisroty is definitely repeating," he mumbles half to himself, half to us. He winks at me. "It most definately is." With that, he stands up and walks out unsteadily out. I figure he is probably having withdrawals and is acting this way because of them.

I turn back around in my seat, shaking my head. "Well that certainly wasn't helpful," I murmur, taking a drink from my glass of milk. Without looking at them, I say, "Mother, Father, do you have anything for us?" When there is no response, I look up and see their seats empty. I slowly turn to stare at the boy in front of me. My eyes must have the question I did not voice in them because he answers with a smirk, "They left while Haymitch was talking to us."

I nod. "It was probably too much for them to take. Hearing those words again, I mean. 'Stay alive.' The worst advice possible." I let out a humorless laugh. It seemed to make the room feel gloomier and my chest feel emptier. It seems like everything feels morbid these days, even the happiest and sweetest of feelings, sounds, smells, and words.

"What about what he said after that?" Chisel says, staring at my hands as they fumble with the tablecloth nervously. "The alliances thing. Lots of tributes are usually allies with their District partner."

I watch my hands also, drinking in things I've never noticed before. Little scars that are barely visible, the way that the skin color changes when my grip tightens, how my index seems to like to move before my other fingers. Suddenly, I remember my dream from last night. "You're from District Two," I state as if this was information he didn't know. "How do I know that you aren't just going to jump in with the Careers after we get in the arena?"

He is silent, seeming to try to look for an answer to please me as if he knows that this is not easy. "I don't guess I can give you a promise that I don't know that I won't break," he says slowly, trying to make it sound right. "So I don't see a point in making one. All I can do is try to gain your trust and hope you keep said trust strong. But if we became allies, I would stand by you no matter what, Sapphire."

I force myself to keep looking down as his words make their way to my eardrums. His father said almost the exact same words to me. What I want to know is how do I know that Gale didn't tell Chisel to say that to me? He made him volunteer for Bey; why wouldn't he make him do something like this? "I'll think about the ally thing," I say, pushing my chair back and standing up. "It's not just a snap decision. It takes time."

He nods, also standing. "I understand. I'm ready any time you are." He walks out, leaving me by myself. I sigh and turn to look out of my window. I almost gasp as I see the edge of the Capitol appear suddenly.

It's more beautiful than it looks on the television. Buildings that look like they are made are silver and bronze, the sunlight reflecting off of them and making them light up. There are more cars than I've ever seen buzzing about busily on the smooth, paved roads. A few people that the trains passes by wave. I reluctantly wave back, plastering a smile on my face. All this is torture to me. But it's only the beginning. More scars than the ones on my hands are about to made.

* * *

**A/N: Another short chapter? I'm losing it... Sorry guys. I'll try to update tomorrow and make a longer chapter. And I'll hopefully be able to get to update _The Second Quarter Quell _tomorrow too. Music helps me write so I'll be listening to a lot of Pandora next time. Hopefully the style of music in my QuickMix (Indie & acoustic artists like The Civil Wars & Mat Kearney. Yeah, I'm such a hipster.) will help me even more.  
**

**Reviews also help! :)**

**-AGEless**


	14. Chapter 14: Crowned Jewel

**A/N: Hey faithful readers! Something I should tell you so you won't get mad at me: I started my piano lessons again on Thursdays so it might not be a good day for me to update. Also, Thursdays are study nights for tests on Friday which just makes it worse. Fridays are football nights (my dad's a coach so I usually go to them), Tuesdays I might be starting important study sessions for my FBLA Current Events Team (we're discussing it tomorrow), Wednesdays & Sundays are church days, & in October, I'm starting practice for a musical. So as you can see, my weeks will be piled to the ceiling with stuff. Hopefully when football season is over & the Christmas musical is over, I'll have more time to update. Just thought you'd like to know.  
But enough with my boring life! Here's Chapter Fourteen!  
**

**DISCLAIMER (I keep forgetting to do these): I do not own the Hunger Games.**

* * *

**FOURTEEN**

After everything I've been through in the past two hours, I think I would rather be stuck in a train car with Chisel, Haymitch, and Wynona for two weeks than have to go through this again.

"Just one more washing, dear, and I think we'll be able to go get Lincoln," says one of my prep team whose name I think is Tear, smiling at me too brightly.

I let out a frustrated huff of air as another one of them (Hailey, I think) rips the last strip of wax off my body. I have been waxed, plucked, tugged, fluffed, and washed everywhere. I'm not sure how much more I can take before I go insane. The three people who have been working on me are absolutely the nicest people you will ever meet. They're almost too nice. Amongst their compliments of how smooth my skin was, how beautiful my hair is, et cetera, I also picked up things like "Have you seen the boy from District Eleven? He seems to be strong and clever", "The girl from District Seven is the fifth highest bid already", and "They say the Head Gamemaker wants to put every mutt ever made into the arena." These are all things that make me feel uneasy and want to tell them to be quiet. I'm not sure why they feel obligated to talk about it right in front of me...

After the third washing and a quick layer of lotion, they give me a fluffy robe to slip into. They command me to sit and wait on the table as if I have somewhere else I could go before they slip out. I sit there awkwardly, looking around the room although I have already seen everything in it. Or at least I think I have. For all I know there could be mutated cats hiding around in the cabinets... Or I could just really be going crazy already... I wonder how Chisel's doing...

Chisel. The name sticks in my mind. It's been planted there since last night. And like a tree, its roots seem to spread, burying it deeper and maker it harder to get out. That boy is a mystery that even the greatest detective can't solve. It's okay if he knows my secrets but I'm not allowed to know his. I hate how he can be so closed off, not letting anyone in, like he wants to push everyone away. Yet there's a quality in him that draws you closer as if he's a Siren for all people. Something that intrigues you. And that is why he will probably win the Hunger Games. And that is why I need to make an alliance with him. I need to, but I will not.

"You have your father's eyes," an unfamiliar voice says, snapping me out of my trance. I look up to see a short, broad man possibly in his late twenties standing over me. He has pale skin and strawberry blond hair. His bright green eyes looked me up and down as a smile spread across his shell pink lips. "I can see why they call you Sapphire." He starts rummaging around in the drawers, looking for the right tools.

I shrug. "I guess," I mumble quietly. "So you're the one who's making the lamb look cute for the slaughter, hm?" I watch him carefully, making sure he doesn't pull something out that could harm me.

He turns back to me. "No," he says simply, coming to where I am seated. "I'm here to be your friend. I'm here to help you." He seems sincere, his eyes boring into mine. I look down quickly. "I'm not exactly looking for friends right now," I say.

"Just because you're not looking for one doesn't mean you won't get one."

The sentence made me think of whenever I was ten. I was sitting in my living room, reading while the Hawthorne's were over, trying to ignore the squeals coming from their eight-year-old girls as Bey chased them around with a snake he had found in the backyard. I had almost completely drowned out the ear-splitting sound whenever something plopped down beside me, sitting on my foot. They plucked the book from my hand and flipped through it, losing my page.

"Is this all you do?" thirteen-year-old Chisel said, poking me in my side, smirking all the while.

I glared at him though it didn't surprise me that it didn't affect him as I had not mastered it at that time. I took my book back, looking for my place, and yanked my foot out from under him. "Your too unintelligent to understand," I said. "Now why don't you go do something that's simple enough for you to do? Like _get out of my house. _Go and annoy some of the merchants' kids. I'm sure they'll love you."

He shook his head, limp, unkempt hair flying around his face. "Sorry. No can do. Dad said I have to stay here. Can't go anywhere else unless in the District unless I go with an adult. He's probably scared I'm going to fall in a mine or something like that. So as of right now, I have to hang out with you. You are going to be my friend this week, like it or not."

I looked at him like he was crazy. "The words Sapphire, Chisel, and friends do not fit together in the same sentence," I snarled. "Not now, not ever. The only way I would be friends with you is... No, not even then." I pushed myself off the couch and started walking upstairs to my room, knowing he wouldn't dare enter there.

"I will make you my friend one day, Sapphire Mellark," he called after me. "You just wait and see!"

The words that he never heard were "if we go to the Hunger Games together." I can't help but think that maybe karma is real, something I've never believed in. Maybe some force up above hates me and wants to get payback on me for all the terrible things I did to Chisel.

"Everything I'm going to do is to benefit you," Lincoln says. "I spoke with your mother. She told me about how you use a piece of your hair to tell which way the wind is blowing when you're shooting."

I look around the room nervously as he speaks the words. If there are microphones or cameras in here...

"Don't worry," he says, smiling easily. "We can't be filmed in here. It's against the rules. Anyway, I think that is a very smart tactic. Many people think that archery is just pulling an arrow back and letting it go. It's a lot more than that." While he was speaking, his was combing a piece of hair in front of my face. I look up at him through the curtain of hair he made in my right eye. "You do archery?" I ask him excitedly.

He shrugs. "I used to." Here, he holds up his left hand. I can't tell at first but I soon notice that it is like my father's leg. Prosthetic. "I can still participate in archery, but it makes it more difficult, having to learn to hold the bow differently. Though it is a close second, it's different from my real hand. So I took up drawing and sewing. I was surprised to find that I was good at it. And now here I am, helping you."

"And how exactly do you plan to help me?"

He smiles. "I'm glad you asked." He grabs the piece and starts snipping it off right above my chin. "This should make it easier to assess the direction of the wind than having it as long as you do. But your hair is lovely at the length it is so I just wanted to cut one piece. And don't worry. It doesn't look as stupid as I can tell you think it is." I turn a light pink as he sits down beside me. "This is just the beginning. I have great expectations for your costume."

I smile at him and lean forward expectantly. "What do you have in mind?"

"Something as great as your mother and father's outfits. I would love to recreate Cinna's 'girl on fire' outfit. However the sponsors might be bored with it, having already seen that trick once, so I'm not going to. But I can promise you it will be as spectacular as the fire outfits. Are you up for it?"

I nod, feeling a new hope light up in me. "Of course I'm up for it. Hit me with your best shot."

* * *

It turns out Lincoln's "best shot" is putting me in a heavy, black hoop skirt which I guess is supposed to represent a round piece of coal with my hair pulled up in a curly ponytail. My makeup, however, is white, silver, and glittery though I have no idea what this has to do with coal as it is dull and ugly.

I clumsily climb in the chariot with Chisel, who is wearing a bulky black suit, his arms seeming stiff like he can't move them. He too is covered in glitter but not as much as I am. "You look... nice," he says. I can tell he doesn't think the words fit. Neither do I.

I shake my head, rubbing my temples as best I can in the stiff dress. "I just hope the horses run fast," I mumble. All the other tributes are staring at us, and I can tell that some are trying hard not to laugh at us. I ignore them as best I can as the gates open to let the chariots out for the tribute parade. I force a smile on my face as ours enters. I'm sure we're going to be a laughing stock by the end of the night.

I give out stiff waves as that is all I can give in this dress, refusing to glance at the monitors. I look at Chisel as suddenly my dress seems to start shrinking. My eyes widen a fraction of an inch. Is this supposed to happen? I notice a flash of panic run across Chisel's face. Our outfits continue to get smaller until the seams start to pull apart. I try to inconspicously hold my dress together so I wouldn't go down the rest of the street naked. Even my hair tie seems to be getting looser. My efforts to keep the dress are useless as it suddenly drops around my ankles and my hair falls around my shoulders.

The crowd goes silent. I straight ahead at the District Eleven chariot, ashamed of my naked figure though I'm not sure whether I am or not. Suddenly, the crowd starts cheering loudly. I force myself to look up at one of the screens. It turns out that Chisel and I are not naked. Far from it. Instead of the large dress, I am in a much slimmer, white dress covered in diamonds and glitter. My dark hair falls around my shoulders in ringlets, a nice contrast to the white. Chisel is dressed similarly only in a suit instead of a dress. My smile becomes less forced and my face starts to relax as the smile is more natural now. The jewels and glitter are catching the light in such a way that it seems like we are shining ourselves, reflecting the light on all the people.

The crowd continues to cheer as we smile and wave and blow kisses. As the chariots come to a stop in front of President Nicola, standing on a balcony overlooking the street now covered in roses and other gifts, I wonder how diamonds and glitter have anything to do with District Twelve. I then remember that if you apply enough pressure to a piece of coals, it turns to a diamond. A hidden gem. That is what Lincoln was trying to show the sponsors. That even the plainest of things can be special if given the chance.

"Welcome all our tributes!" President Nicola says, smiling at all of us. "And happy Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor these next few weeks." I do not hear the next thing that he says because Chisel leans down to whisper in my ear, "I've always known you were a precious jewel."

I pull back and look at him, bewildered. However I am not sure if he really said it or if I am imaging because he is standing up completely straight, an indifferent look on his face. I shake my head and turn my attention back to Nicola. He has just now finished and is dismissing us.

The chariots are pulled into a place like a big, overdone hanger. I shakily step down from ours as Lincoln and Chisel's stylist, Rosa, walk up to us. "You two were fabulous," she gushes, stroking my hair. "You should have seen how your faces lit up. The audience was drinking you two up."

I look over at Lincoln and smile. "You could have at least warned me, you know," I tease him. "I probably made a fool of myself out there."

He shook his head, smiling widely, looking like a child at Christmas. "That's what made it so fabulous," he says. "Like I said, everything I do is to benefit you. You keep this up, you'll be in it for sure, Crowned Jewel." He walks away to talk to a District Four stylist, leaving me to wonder about the "Crowned Jewel" comment.

A hand touches my shoulder, and I spin around to face Chisel. "You looked beautiful," he says, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Even as a piece of coal."

And it is things like this that are starting to make it hard for me to hate him.

* * *

**A/N: Yeah. And you guys thought I was going to let her go out there dressed as a piece of coal. Whatever. I hope this satisfied you all. Now you could return the favor and satisfy me by reviewing.**

**May the odds be ever in your favor.  
-AGEless**


	15. Chapter 15: Pay A Price

**A/N: If you're planning to destroy me, do it in my sleep. I like sleep.  
Anyway, I was visiting my sister at her college this weekend so I didn't get a chance to update. So that is the reason why some of you might be planning to destroy me. Also, my FBLA study sessions have been moved to Thursdays after piano lessons so I may have Tuesdays free to update.  
Now here's Chapter 15!**

* * *

**FIFTEEN**

"You were beautiful, sweetie," Father says, wrapping me in his arms as I step off the elevator. Per usual, I feel safe in his arms, warm, loved. I let go of the skirt of my dress and wrap my own arms around his torso, burying my head in his chest. Around him, I see Chisel who is smiling sadly. For a moment, I feel pity because he does not have any of his family here. Not just him but all of the tributes. I am lucky to be able to have my parents here and I know this. I'm just greatful that unlike him, my younger sibling did not follow me here.

I release him. "You're not so bad yourself," I joke though it is true that my father is rather handsome. "I'm just glad that this was the end result instead of the big dress." I twirl in circles, the bottom of the dress flaring around my ankles, the jewels reflecting little bits of light onto the ceiling. This is very unlike me, but I continue until I get dizzy and goofy. Father holds my arm while I try to steady myself through my giggling.

Someone - I can't really tell who because everything is spinning - pulls me into an embrace. "Cinna would have loved this," my mother's voice says in my ear. She pulls back and smiles at me. "He would have thought you were brilliant." There is a tug on my heart as I hear Cinna's name, and I can tell in her eyes, Mother feels the same way. Her best friend and one of the many people who died to bring justice to our country. No matter how short lived the freedom was, I still respect him very much. Cinna, Finnick Odair, Boggs, Mags, all the great people I've heard about.

A hand touches my shoulder, and I turn to see Lincoln smiling at my parents. "It's an honor to get to work with your daughter," he says to them. "And also, as I have told you before, an honor to get to meet the two of you. You have no idea how excited I am to be able to help with your cause."

I had picked up early on that Lincoln was in on everything. And like Cinna with Mother, he was hoping to bring people in and join us by using the things he comes up with for me. Only I would make sure Lincoln made it out alive.

I look around for Chisel but see that he is not here. One of the doors to the room is slightly cracked open though. He must have retired for the night. But as I look around at the people before me, I realize that all the attention was turned to me when he was in here. He might die in two weeks and no body was paying any mind to him. Feeling guilty, I step in the middle of the circle, squeezing between Wynona and Lincoln. "I think I'm going to go wash this makeup off and then go to bed," I say quietly.

"Oh, dear, don't you want any supper though?" Wynona asks me, looking my lean and thin figure up and down, probably thinking that I'll need to fatten up before the Games. "And where is Chisel? Surely he wants something to eat. A boy such as himself has to eat."

Despite the quiet gurgling in my stomach, I shake my head. "I'm really tired. I'm just ready to go to bed."

Wynona nods and, though she has an annoyed and smug look on her face, shows me to my room, two doors down from Chisel's. Lincoln was following closely after us, claiming he was going to help me get the makeup off. I throw myself down on the bed, truly feeling exhausted. I lay my cheek down on the soft pillow, possibly getting glitter on it but not caring at the moment. I close my eyes and sigh. I start to feel drifty whenever something warm and wet touches my face. I angle my face so Lincoln could get everything.

"I know you're not very fond of Chisel," he says, making my eyes slowly open, "but at least pretend that you like him. At least until you get inside of the arena."

I sit up as he continues to wipe my face with the cloth. "What's the point in pretending now?" I ask him softly. "Just make him think he likes me and then I have to kill him. That's like treachery. That _is _treachery. I don't like Chisel, but I don't hate him that much." _Though his father is one of the biggest traitors I know, _I add mentally.

"Let me ask you, if I may, why exactly you hate him? Because his father supposedly killed your aunt?" Though I tried to fight it, I visibly wince, staring at him in disbelief that he would actually stoop so low. "Yes," he says, seeing my reaction. "I know about that. Is it really right to hold him responsible for his father's actions?"

I feel myself getting red under whatever white makeup is left. "I'm paying the price for my parents' actions," I snap at him. "Is that really right? As if they haven't paid enough already. But now they have to deal with the lose of their daughter? They could have lost their son too."

He grabs my hands which I did not realize I had clenched into fists. "Exactly," he says softly. "_Could have. _And now who's paying the price for your brother? You owe this to Chisel, Sapphire. And he's already offered you his alliance. He could make a great one. I can see that in him. The least you can do is try to accept him. It could be the best decision you make."

I open my mouth, then shut it as I realize that I don't have a good response to this. I do owe Chisel my alliance at the very least in return for sacrificing his own life for my little brother's. Then, I remember my dream and despite Chisel's promise that he wouldn't join the Careers, I still don't believe him. "How do I know he won't be the one committing the treachery?" I say, narrowing my eyes at Lincoln as the words come out.

He leans in, meeting my eyes with the same intensity mine are managing. "He doesn't know that you aren't going to committ treachery," he said. "But what he does know is how to trust people. He's got it cut out for him. Now you just need to figure that out."

Before I had a chance to blow up on him, I stood up and hurried to what I figured was the bathroom in the large room. I slam the door behind me and kick off my dress, hoping the beautiful rhinestones didn't fall off even through my anger. I angrily throw on the clothes I had managed to grab on the way. All the emotions I had been trying to hold back come flooding out of the gates, destroying all the sanity in its path.

Hurt over everything that has happened even before my time that lead to today. Betrayal by the whole world as it seems nothing is ever in my favor anymore. Anger at everyone wanting me to be like my parents. Longing for my beloved District Twelve and my brother's arms. And finally desire to not want to hate Chisel Hawthorne though my heart does not want to follow what my brain is trying to tell it. Through this flood, I finally realize this. However, I am not ready to accept it. I want to give it a bit more time. Make sure he's trust worthy.

Something warm starts to crawl down my face, snapping me back to attention of the physical world. I jump up and turn the water on, splashing my face as if this would help. "Come on," I mumble. "Stop. Stop, stop, stop. Don't go weak on me now. Please stop." However, the ignorant tears do not listen no matter how many times I ask them to.

I pace around the room, the walls seeming to start to close in though the room is quite big. I let out a muffled, frustrated shriek and without thinking, punch the wall closest to me. I consider doing it again but stop myself because I know that if I want to be anything useful in the arena, I'm going to need my dominant hand at least. I take deep breaths to calm myself.

After I feel I have my composure back, I timidly open the door and pad out to where I left Lincoln only to find that he is not there. Instead, there is a Capitol girl, straightening the sheets. She gives me a smile before walking out, leaving me to my own devices. I fall into the bed, cacooning myself inside of the soft sheets. I close my eyes, hoping for sleep though I know that I hope for far too much.

* * *

**A/N: Chapter Fifteen! You guys get to see a bit of Sapphire's weak side. Everybody feels pity right about... ... ... ... NOW! Enjoy!  
Also, I had an idea while I was writing this of writing Finnick's death scene through his point of view. If I do it, I'll just have to wait until my cousin returns _Mockingjay _to me. It's just that I felt the description of his death was very blunt and deserves a bit more of story as he is a favorite of many people (including myself). It was so blunt that for me, it wasn't even a tear-jerker. Shame on Suzanne Collins.**

**Review please.**

**-AGEless**


	16. Chapter 16: That's All We Are

**SIXTEEN**

Another toss makes me sigh as I close my eyes and try to sleep once more. Though I have no way to tell the time, I have a feeling I have been at this for at least three hours. My eyes sting because they want the sleep my brain refuses to give them and the tears that dried them out earlier. None of my thoughts have been coherent, basically a jumbled up mess of emotions that I was too exhausted to untangle and straighten out. I wonder if the other tributes are having as hard a time as I am.

I did not notice that my door was slightly open until a figure passes by it. I take into consideration that it is more than likely just a Peacekeeper on night watch, but my curiosity seems to take control of my body as my feet make connection with the cold, solid floor and carry me out of the room, into the hallway. As I enter it, I see the elevator doors closing. All I make out of the person is a light brown fluff of hair before the doors conceal them in completely.

I step up to the doors, seeing my own warped reflection in the shiny metal. I look like a train wreck, hair tumbled and tangled, skin blotchy and pale, clothes askew, eyes bloodshot. I look like Haymitch. I push the button and wait, combing my hair with my fingers and straightening my clothes. A familiar scream of "run" coming from my mother and father's room makes me jump as it pierces through the silence of the night. The elevator door just opens and closes as Haymitch's door and before I get caught out of my room.

I push the button to go to the roof though I'm not sure whether or not that's where the person went. I need fresh air anyway. I want to enjoy as much freedom as I can while I'm still alive.

In a matter of seconds, the door opens and I am hit with cold wind and the sound of wind chimes. I make my way over to railing at the edge of the roof. My bare feet step onto the bottom bar. The lights of the Capitol burn bright, making the sky look orange and blocking out all the stars. I lean over, looking down at the sidewalk below the Training Center, unafraid of my balance betraying me. I breathe in and out slowly to clear my head a bit.

"Stalking me?" a voice says. I turn to meet the face of Chisel as he watches me curiously. I look forward again at the lights, wishing they would go out so he couldn't see me. "Maybe I was just thinking about suicide," I answer quietly, shifting my feet slightly.

He too steps up onto the railing, bending a bit so his hands could reach the top bar. He looks out at the streets, covered in trash from the earlier festivities. I know that there will soon be street sweepers to clean them. "That honestly sounds like a better alternative right now, doesn't it?" he says. The lights reflect in his eyes and make them look like a golden brown. For once, I can see emotion in them.

I sigh. "Unfortunately, you can't anyway." I step down and pick up a rock that was sitting in the garden on the roof. Chisel follows, watching my every movement. I lightly toss the rock beyond the railing and with a _zap _it flies back and Chisel catches it, examining the smooth object and looking back at the railing. "Mother and Father told me about it," I continue. "Don't want their little circus monkeys injuring theirselves."

Chisel throws the rock back at the force field and catches it repeating the action. "That's all we are to them, isn't it?" he says. "Performers under their will. Animals that they can train for their entertainment." He tosses it at an angle and it flies at me. I catch it and toss it back to him. "We have to follow by their rules."

I catch the rock as he throws it back at me. "That's the thing they don't realize," I say, tucking my short strand behind my ear. "Animals are trained to do something no matter what the situation. They don't have a thought process of their own. All they know is if they do something, they get rewarded. If they do, they get punished. But humans - humans are different. We have minds. We can think for ourselves. We don't have to follow through. Hence the uprising, the Rebellion, the Hunger Games coming back. Everything."

I realize that our game of catch has stopped and Chisel is standing closer to me than he was before. "So why don't we do something about it?" he says quietly. "We could do it, you know."

I inhale a sharp breath and step back a few steps, sitting down on a bench at the edge of the garden. I roll up in a ball partly because I am cold from the wind and partly because I am starting to feel uncomfortable as I realize that there is another person who is expecting me to step up and lead a rebellion. "I don't know that I can," I mumble. "I don't know how."

Chisel sits beside me, rolling the rock in his palm. It is smooth and abnormally round, shiny in the few lights along the roof. "Do you remember what Haymitch said about alliances? Well, that's one of the good things about life. No matter what happens, you'll always find someone who will go anywhere with you, do anything you do."

"Until they break your trust," I mumble. I stare out at the streets as if they would solve all my problems. Some lights are going off as people are packing up from their work places and going home and others in the apartment building are settling down for the night.

"Whenever I said that Dad made me volunteer as tribute," Chisel says, his voice sounding dry, "well, that wasn't completely true. It was more like he was unintentionally pushing me to do it." His eyes watch me carefully. Something in my face must have been asking him to continue. "When I was younger, before I met your family, my father would speak of Katniss. It was always wonderful things I would hear. Mom would get angry with him for mentioning her. For the way his eyes would flash with something that I could never tell what it was. In his sleep, I would hear him mumbling her name. Sometimes when Mom wasn't around, and he didn't know I was in earshot, he would say things like, 'I should have volunteered. I was so stupid not to.' I wondered what he meant. And then we came to stay with you, and I knew why he said all those wonderful things. He still loves her. Probably not the way that he used to."

I shake my head slightly, not completely convinced. "So you volunteered to fulfill your father's dream? Because maybe if you did, my mother would fall in love with your father again and leave mine so that they could live happily ever after? That's sick and twisted, Chisel."

Now Chisel shakes his head, light brown curls highlighted gold falling over his forehead. "No," he says quickly. "That was just a push. I pity my father more than anyone I've ever come in contact with. I probably would have volunteered even if he wouldn't have pushed me to."

I lick my lips because they are starting to chap in the wind, and I am starting to feel awkward. "Why?" I mumble. "Why would you? When people hear the names Mellark or Everdeen, they immediately step back and let us go up. Why do you think no one but you stepped up to volunteer for Beowulf? Because they figure that even though he's only a twelve-year-old, he's this superhuman fighting machine that can survive in the Hunger Games. That's why we both were reaped-"

"And that's one reason why I volunteered," he interrupts. "Because I know that he can't survive this. Maybe he can, but I wasn't going to let them take the chance. I knew that if he was in the arena, they were going to push him to his limits. A little kid can't take that. If I could have taken both of your places, I would."

I run a hand through my hair, a feeling of unease knotting my stomach. "They're not going to let up on the name Hawthorne either. They've seen your father at work, the things he's created. Both of us are as good as dead out there."

He throws the rock at the force field and, of course, catches it again as it flies back. "That's reason number one why I would have volunteered. Why I did volunteer." He stops throwing it and casts his eyes down at the dirty ground. "My father has never told me once that he's proud of me. Everyone always expected me to be this wonderful, smart boy who is able to create anything that he sets his mind to. Yes, I'm above average but I'm not like my father. He's tried teaching me what he knows, but I've just never been able to pick it up. I want to so badly, but I just can't. He says he understands, that it's okay. And he's lying. I can see the disappointment in his eyes whenever I can't get it, and I can tell he's one of the many that expect me to be something I'm not.

"So when it came time for the reaping, I told him I was volunteering. He asked me not to, said it was committing suicide. I talked him into reluctantly letting me. I could see just a hint of that pride I'd been waiting to see my whole life."

I stare at him, his face an emotionless mask, his voice empty. "So what did he say whenever he came to see you? In the Justice Building, I mean."

A ghost of a sad smile crosses his face. "He said I was stupid for volunteering... But he's proud of me, and knows that I'm going to do great." His hard eyes finally meet mine, burning with intensity that makes me want to tear our gaze but somehow it is locked. "He asked me to protect you overall."

I suck in a breath and look away. I can't look at him as I speak the next words. He's about to lose his life. He deserves to hear them. "I met your father one night a week or two before the reaping at this secret place he and Mother shared as children. And as we were talking, he talked about you." I look up at him now. He looks at me curiously, drinking in my words. "Chisel, I've never seen anyone speak with so much pride about their child before. He really does love you. He said that if you got reaped that he knew you would stick with me. He said that you could be one of my best allies. He's so proud of you."

Emotion flashes through his eyes and is gone right after. But it was long enough for me to tell that what I saw was bittersweet happiness that he finally knows that Gale has always loved him, always found something to be proud of.

That little peek of emotion makes me feel my first emotion about him that isn't anger or annoyance. I pity him. My parents have always told me and Bey that they love us. And now I realize that not everyone is as fortunate. It makes me want to show him what kindness I can while he's still alive because of that lack of a family feeling he's always had.

I suddenly shiver and my hands fly up to my arms, rubbing them roughly. Chisel notices and takes off his jacket. "We need to get back inside," he says as he places it around my shoulders. I nod and stand up with him, tugging his jacket around me. As soon as we step into the elevator, warm air meets our cold skin. I sigh contently as the feeling works its way down my body. We step off on the twelth floor especially for District 12. The screaming has stopped and everything is still again.

As we stop in front of my room, I shrug off Chisel's jacket and hand it back to him. "Goodnight," I say quietly. I go to turn the doorknob when he puts his hand over mine. I turn to look at him once more. "This is going to sound ridiculous, but would you mind... coming to my room. At least until I fall asleep?" he says sheepishly. "It's just that when I'm with you it's almost like you... I don't know... Calm me, I guess."

I stand there for a moment, contemplating my options. I finally shrug and follow him. He lays down on his bed, patting the side beside him, inviting me to lay too. I do on top of the covers and being careful not to make contact.

"What do you want to talk about?" he asks me softly. His eyes are tired, his face relaxed.

I shrug, starting to feel tired myself. "Let's not talk," I say. "I'm okay with silence. Plus, you need to go to sleep."

He nods, watching my face carefully. The silence is comfortable, his warmth scorching through the sheets. His eyelids progressively start drooping, getting harder and harder to open every time he blinks. When I'm sure he's almost gone, I do something I've only done for Bey. The soft side I got from Father deciding to reveal itself as it does very seldom.

"_Deep in the meadow, under the willow," _the words come out of my mouth before I can stop them, almost as if my newfound exhaustion has taken control of me. "_A bed of grass, a soft green pillow._

_"Lay down your head and close your sleepy eyes._

_"And when again it's morning the sun will rise."_

"Sapphire," he mumbles, his eyes opening slightly.

"Shh," I whisper. "Just rest." I am in a sudden hurry to get back in my room.

_"Here it's safe and here it's warm._

_"Here the daisies guard you from every harm._

_"Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true._

_"Here is the place where I love you."_

"Your voice is so pretty," he mumbles. "Did you know that?"

I almost snort, ruining the effect. I've been told I can sing well before but never believed it. I'm nothing like my mother, who can make the mockingjays stop to listen. I can harmonize well since as she gets older, her voice start leaning towards a lower soprano, possibly even a high alto while mine is more of a very high, squeaky soprano.

_"Deep in the meadow, hidden far away,_

_"A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray._

_"Forget your woes and let your troubles lay._

_"And when again it's morning they'll wash away._

_"Here it's safe and here it's warm._

_"Here the daisies guard you from every harm._

_"Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true._

_"Here is the place where I love you."_

Chisel's eyes have shut and have not opened since I started the second chorus. At some point, his hand found mine and grasped it. I try to gently pull it away, but even in sleep, his grip is tight. I do not want to yank my hand away for fear of waking him. He looks so blissful as he sleeps. Like a carefree little boy. I smile slightly and let my muscles relax, deciding to stay the rest of the night since I don't want him to wake up.

I take one last look at his childlike face before I close my eyes and slip into sleep.

But before this I have one last thought. The innocent, brokenness I saw tonight made it, the boyish look sealed it. I am going to do my best to keep him alive. Because just because he killed my aunt, doesn't mean that Gale deserves to lose his beloved son who deserves to be shown that love from his father.

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**A/N: It's been awhile... So there is Chapter 16. You got to see some of Chisel's soft side since you got to see Sapphire's. And you could see some of what she got from Peeta!  
Oh, and funny story. I was talking to one of my friends and I randomly started singing Rue's Lullaby and next timed I look at them, they were asleep. So I was like "(troll face) Really?"**

**Anyway. Please Review!**

**-AGEless**


	17. Chapter 17

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Hunger Games.**

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**SEVENTEEN**

I open my eyes and the first thing I see is Chisel's face content in sleep. His eyes are twithcing and I suspect that he is having a dream. From the way the corner of his lips twitch upward every now and again, he is having a nice one. One that he deserves before he possibly dies.

I carefully wiggle my fingers from his weakened grasp, trying deserpately not to wake him. One of the first things I'm aware of as I start to move around is that my bare feet are freezing cold, the cool floor not making it much better. I pad silently back to my room, looking out an occasional window to see what time it is. It seems to be dusk due to the dingy grey color of the sky. This does not surprise me because it is natural that I wake first thing in the morning. However, when I get back to my room, a wave of exhaustion falls over me. I climb into bed, thinking maybe I can just warm up a bit and then start my day. Only my eyelids get heavier and heavier until I can hold them open no longer.

I barely slip into unconsiousness before a shrill voice is telling me to wake up. I consider laying there and playing dead like I would at home if I didn't want to get up but I could feel Wynona's presence, staring at me. Finally, I groan, roll off the bed, and groan some more, possibly making the District Eleven tribute below me wonder what's going on. As I stand up and go to the bathroom, I hear Wynona mumbling about stupid teenagers or something. I shrug it off as I slip on the sapphire blue jersey cotton shirt and brown pants.

As I am slipping the combat boots on, I notice something shiny sitting on the laboratory. I pick it up and see it is Mother's mockingjay pin. I stand there, turning it around and around in my hand. Such a small thing with such a big meaning. A meaning that I am hesitant to carry on. Either way, I pin it onto my shirt and look at my reflection. I wonder if this is how Mother felt having this responsibility on her shoulders. Of course, she didn't do it alone and neither will I. But she didn't have the disadvantage of everyone expecting her to do it from the very start. Now I will. I let out a huff and then go to the dining room where my parents, Haymitch, and Chisel are waiting.

Haymitch and Chisel seem to be in deep conversation since neither of them notice when I enter. I make my plate, straining my ears to hear them. But they are both speaking in hushed voices for reasons I can't explain. I decide to try the lamb and plum stew like Mother advised. I sit down next to Mother and shove some of the stew in my mouth. It takes everything in me not to groan with delight. Mother chuckles and strokes my hair then sets to carefully braiding it. I welcome the sensation as I sip my hot chocolate, the creamy drink burning my tongue.

Haymitch slams his coffee down and leans back in his chair. "So... training," he says slowly. Chisel leans forward with interest, watching Haymitch expectantly. I too look at him and listen. "These next few days can be crucial to your survival. I suggest you take the instructors to your advantage. All of them. Not just the ones that show you how to wrestle or throw a spear. Learn how to light a fire with a damp piece of wood, tie a few knots, how to camouflague. Something that you don't know how to do. Most importantly, steer away from your strengths. If you feel you may need to work on it a bit, then do so. But don't reveal how good you are. Wait until your private session with the Gamemakers."

"Notice the strengths of your components," Father says as soon as he gets the chance. "It can give you an advantage over them. Which is another reason why you want to steer away from your own strengths. Luckily, the Gamemakers will be watching so you can have a chance to show them other things you're good at when you're in there."

"Even if they stay away from what they're good at, they other components will be suspicious and have a good idea," Mother snaps at them suddenly. "You can't you're the daughter of Katniss Everdeen and not have anyone think a thing about. You don't think at least half of Panem are betting on her because they think she's excellent with a bow and arrow? Or on Chisel because his father is a great inventor, the one who made the bombs that blew up all those Capitol citizens and-" She was quiet suddenly and stared down at her hands, her cheeks turning pink. I know her next word was going to be Prim. "Excuse me." She gets up quickly and walks out, heading towards the elevator. Father gets up and goes after her.

I look back at Haymitch and Chisel. Haymitch nods at me. I stand up and go to find them. I push the button to the elevator right as the doors close and you can hear it going upward. Of course, they're going to the roof. I step onto the roof and can hear her sobbing as soon as the doors open. I follow the sound to the garden where they are sitting in the tallest grasses, Father cradling Mother to his chest, whispering soothing words to her. She picks her head to look at him. He leans down and kisses her lightly. When they pull back, she is visibily calmer. Her red, puffy eyes slid to me behind Father's back. She releases herself from his grip and holds her arms out to me.

Tears prick my eyes as I silently move into her embrace, a little less than literally falling into her arms. I lay there, my head against her torso. I hear her heart beating quickly, her breathing ragid. A tear silently rolls down my face. My father's strong hand moves to wipe it away. This would have been a beautiful picture in any other situation. But I felt empty and hollow. And the picture was also missing my little brother who I miss dearly. I would give anything to have him here with us, to have him comforting me too.

"I was always afraid to have children," Mother says softly, sounding sad as she said it. "I never wanted them." I look up at her to see she is looking at me like I'm the most precious thing ever. "I can't tell you what a startle I got whenever I felt you moving around. I didn't want to bring so small and innocent into such a cruel world. It took all of Peeta's convincing to make me realize that everything was going to be fine, that nothing as bad as what happened to us would to happen to us. Do you know why we named you Sapphire?"

The words confuse me as they have always told me it was because of my sapphire blue eyes and that was their favorite color of blue. However, I shake my head and wait for her continue.

She smiles a tiny bit. "It was just coincidental that your eyes turned out to be sapphire. I was expecting them to turn grey. We - your father and I - started a fire that changed the whole country. A very hot flame. We named you Sapphire because one of the hottest flames is a sapphire blue color. We named you that because it reminded us of the fire we started and how we don't want you to have to go through anything like we did and start another fire as large as the one we did. And Beowulf too. Beowulf is the hero in a very old story that slays a terrible beast. We slayed a beast, and we don't want him to have to do the same." Here, she began to sob again. "I'm so sorry, Sapphire," she whispers. "I'm sorry."

I sit up and look at her. I take her hand in mine. "Mother, you have nothing to be sorry for. You weren't the one who brought all of this back. There's always going to be some kind of bad thing that comes around. Don't you dare blame yourself for any of this. Please don't." I wrap my arms around her and pull her as close as possible, breathing her in, savoring the feeling.

"I'm sorry you're in this mess," she says quietly. "But I'm not sorry for bringing you into it. I could never have asked for a better daughter. I know you can do this. I have faith you can. I'm just scared for you."

"I'm scared too. There's nothing wrong with being scared every now and again. It can help you push through the situatiion." As I speak the words I just begin to realize them myself.

She pulls back and stares at the mockingjay pin. She carefully traces the outline of it. She looks up at me and smiles. "Well you make sure to give those tributes in there a good scare then. Make sure they know you're not the one the mess with. They already know what you're good at. Make sure the Gamemakers are watching you. You need to be unforgettable."

I shift from foot to foot as I observe the other twenty-two tributes. I feel bad because only four of the districts, including District Twelve, have someone to mentor them. Beetee - who would have been District Three's mentor - passed away half a year ago. And Mother and Father tell me that Annie Odair (District Four's mentor) hasn't been completely sane since her victory in her Games.

The boy from District Two looks oddly familiar. Much too familiar... I know I have seen his face before but I'm not sure where from... A figure much smaller than he peers from around his legs. The girl's large grey eyes meet mine before a curtain of black hair blocks them and she once again hides behind him. I smile a bit as the man who is the head instructor, Stona, steps into the middle of us. He explains to us the rules and the stations. I listen carefully, thinking of how I can balance my strengths with my weaknesses these next fews days.

When he dismisses us, most of the tributes run right towards the weapons. I stand there for a second, looking around at what I should do first. I smirk and head towards the climbing wall, something that can easily seem harmless. I scale it in no time, the other two tributes who were also climbing gaping at me as I perch on top of it. I chuckle as they attempt to climb as fast as I did, slipping and losing their grip the whole time. One even falls about five feet.

On top of the wall, I can practically see the whole training gym. The boy from Two is exceptional at swinging the mace around, making it look like it's just a little stick he broke off of a tree. The girl from Seven can easily balance herself and flip around on the gymnastics equipment. The boy from Four seems to have a talent for throwing a spear.

I look towards the targets set up on the far north wall and see an instructor trying to show the girl from Eight how to shoot an arrow. I long to get my hands on that sleek, silver bow and watch the silver arrow fly. But I'm going to hold off on it, make the others think that maybe I don't have any skill with it. After all, most people stray from their weaknesses, right?

I climb back down and head for the throwing knives. There are already several kids there attempting to throw one. Attempting. The girl from Thirteen though is hitting every target in a crippling if not fatal place. For some reason I know at that moment that I want her as an ally. She gives me a nod as I step up beside her. "Impressed?" she says, grinning at me. "Crown Jewel? Mockingjay chick? Little Girl on Fire?"

I scoff and grin back at her, picking up four knives. "Maybe I was just looking to see what all you were doing wrong," I say. I throw the first knife, hitting the human shaped dummy right above the heart. "But I must say-" The next one hits the neck. "- that you're doing better than most of these kids." The third sticks in the left knee. "So I am somewhat impressed." The last one catches the dummy's cheek but flies right by. I push my hair back and stare at the dummy, impressed with my own results. Throwing knives are not my weapon of choice, evidently. I look back and forth between our dummies. Hers is much better than mine. She hit hers in the heart at least three times. I look down at her and notice she is a tiny thing, even smaller than Mother, though she looks to be at least seventeen. "Maybe you can teach me a thing or two," I finish. I hold my hand out to her.

She stares at it for a while, her forest green eyes confused. She finally looks up at me, nodding. "Yeah," she says. "Alright. We can be allies. I saw you on that climbing wall. Pretty impressive. But what's your real strength?"

I hesitate for a while. With her as my ally, she should deserve to know my strength. I already know hers. "I would think you already know," I mumble. "How about we start with names for right now?"

She lets out a frustrated breath, but tells me anyway. "Alvara Plurteus," she says. "District Thirteen."

I smile slightly. "Sapphire Mellark," I say. "District Twelve. Just a regular girl trying to survive the Hunger Games."

She shakes her head. "That makes only one person who thinks that then."

Alvara and I sit together at lunch, the only two at our table. I learn that she is eighteen, that she is the youngest of four siblings, and that she knows how to use throwing knives so well because her father fought in the Revolution and wanted all his children to learn how to use at least one weapon to defend themselves with. Her choice was the throwing knives.

"My father's always been paranoid about this kind of thing," she says, putting a grape in her mouth. With her mouth still full, she impersonates him in a deep voice. "'You never know what could happen. People these days are crazy. Someday, someone's going to snap and you're going to need to know how to defend yourself.' I always thought him a crazy old loon who had gone mad after the Rebellion. I feel terrible about thinking that now." She looks down as if in shame, her golden hair sheilding her face.

I run my finger over the rim of my glass, staring at the water inside of it. "We share something in common then," I say quietly, looking around as if to make sure no one is listening. "I used to think the same thing about my dad. He would tell me that he would never let anything hurt me, nothing as bad as what happened to him happen to me. I would always dismiss it because I would think what could possibly hurt me? Everything is perfect now. There's nothing that can hurt me anymore. I was foolish to think that."

We are silent, possibly in pity for each other. Sutton has always been my only friend, the only person I've felt I can connect to. I assume that Alvara is the same way, socially awkward, never having very many friends. That's probably what's drawing us together right now. We both look up at each other at the same time. Then, for no apparent reason, we begin laughing. Loudly. All the other tributes turn to stare at us. We try to contain our giggles. Unsuccessfully. If these tributes didn't think me weak and goofy before, they surely do now. That will probably be what makes me unforgettable.

* * *

**A/N: There's Chapter Seventeen! Finally.  
I finally listened to Songs From District 12 And Beyond. I love how all of the songs fit the story so accurately. There are only a couple that I don't like but most of them are the style of music I like. I will try to get _The Second Quarter Quell _updated too.**

**Don't forget to review.**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: So, I've thought it's about time that this story get a cover. Only I haven't found a picture that I would like to use for it. If I have, I would have had to edit it but I don't have a good picture editor on my computer. It's frustrating. Which is why it has not yet gotten a cover. Anyone else have this kind of trouble?  
But anyway, here's Eighteen.**

* * *

**EIGHTEEN**

"Come on, Alvara," I call up to her. "You can do this."

The muscles in her arms ripple as she tries to pull herself up after losing her footing. I'd been trying to teach her some of the easiest ways to climb but she just hasn't seemed to be able to get it. She makes one last attepmt before shaking her head and letting go completely. She propels down, laying on the ground when she gets down to the mat. I kneel down beside her, watching as her cheeks slowly go from red to pink to normal. "I'm not a squirrel like you, Sapphire," she says, catching her breath. "How do you even know that there will be trees in the arena, anyway?"

I shrug, laying down beside her. "Well, a barren wasteland wouldn't exactly be fun to watch us die in will it?" I look over at the clock on the wall. I sigh and pick myself up. "Come on. It's almost time for lunch. Then it's the private session for the Gamemakers."

We quietly sit down at our lonesome table and eat in silence for a few moments. "Do you feel like you're ready?" Alvara asks me quietly.

I take a swig of my water and look at her for a few moments. "What do you mean? 'Do I feel like I'm ready?'" I murmur. "Ready for what?" There's so much...

She takes a deep breath and pushes her plate away from her. "Everything. The private session, the interview... The Games..." There is a hint of uncertainty like she doesn't know if she's ready herself.

I sit there for a while, just watching her for a few minutes. I'm not sure the right answer to this. What if I say the wrong thing? Make her think she doesn't want to be my ally anymore? I shrug. "How exactly are we supposed to know whether we are or not? We've never been in this situation before. It's almost like cooking." I smile a bit because it's very ironic since I'm no good at cooking. "You're trying a new recipe, and there's no way for you to tell if it's really ready for not because you've never done it before. Does that make any sense?"

Alvara stares at the table for a few moments, pursing her lips as if thinking. She slowly nods. "Yeah," she says. "It does make sense. In a really weird way. I guess you're right. There's really no way to tell. I guess I'll just have to go in there and give it my best shot."

The tension from there becomes unbearable. Possibly because we are both nervous about the private session and the days to follow. We eventually try to make light conversation in an attempt to break it. It's not very successful.

"Can I sit with you?" a young voice says, interrupting our conversation.

We both turn to face a young girl with coal black hair and grey Seam eyes watching us expectantly. I smile and nod. "Yeah, sure," I say, pulling a chair out for her. "Go ahead."

Her shoulders seem to relax as she sits in the chair, scooting it a bit closer to me. She picks up one of her blueberries, rolling it over and over in her hand. "I recognized you when we watched the Reapings," she says quietly. "I don't remember much about you but I remember your face. I've always thought you were really pretty."

Alvara smiles at me. "You two know each other?" she says, watching the young girl curiously.

I nod. "Kind of." I look back at the girl. "You're Giovanni, right?"

She smiles slightly. "Yes," she says. "But I go by Gia now. Micah's back home with Mom and Dad." Her grey eyes turn sad as she says these words. I know that she is probably missing her home as much as I miss mine. A girl so young pulled out of her home to go into an arena to fight to the death. It's one kind of immoral to send older teenagers in but it's completely different to send twelve-, thirteen-, and fourteen-year-olds in.

I look around awkwardly, looking for one particular face. I haven't seen much of Chisel these past few days. We might end up at the same station once or twice and of course I see him afterwards and at supper. But other than that, we don't see each other. I don't see him now either. I look back at Gia. "Where's your brother, hm?" I ask her.

She shrugs, pushing her food around. "Who knows?" she says, taking great interest in the arrangement of her plate. "He's always been a loner. He hates crowds too. Says it makes him feel overwhelmed, claustrophobic."

I nod. "He sounds like your father. He favors him. I can tell."

She smiles. "Chisel and Dad are very much alike. I always tell him that and he denies it every time I do. I'm not sure why, but he doesn't seem very fond of our father. It makes Dad very sad though..."

I look down now because a wave of guilt washes over me. I - who is not even friends with this boy - knows more about how he feels about his family than his own sister does. I always knew he was never a touchy-feely person but I never thought that it was this bad. It makes me pity now, not just Chisel and Gale, but the whole family. All of the Hawthornes. They have no family bond and will perhaps not be able to make one now that they are losing two children.

Alvara, Gia, and I eat the rest of lunch in complete silence, the sound of the Careers laughing and talking sounding much too loud while the rest of the tributes eat by theirselves. All through lunch, I catch no sign of Chisel until it is time for the private sessions.

Each session is fifteen minutes long, the boy of the district going first then the girl. Being District Twelve, it is approximately three and a half hours before Chisel gets to go for his private session. I sit hunched forward, juggling my knee impatiently as each tribute is called one by one. Every now and then, Chisel would get annoyed and put his hand on my knee to stop the rapid movement. I would cease for a few minutes before starting again out of habit. He eventually gave up and let me be.

The door opens once again with only four of us left. A woman steps out and looks around at us. "Chisel Hawthorne," she says, her eyes looking on him.

He nods and stands up. Before walking out, he grabs my hand and gives it a good squeeze. "You'll be fine," he says quietly. "Shoot straight." With that, he walks into the gym with the woman. She quickly closes the door behind him and locks it. As the door is closing, I notice that whenever he grabbed my hand, my juggling stopped. And as soon as he let go, it started again. I quickly dismiss this detail and stare straight forward to see Alvara smiling at me.

"What?" I ask her, my juggling starting to get violent.

She shakes her head, golden hair falling in her face. "Oh, nothing. Nothing at all," she says simply. Her smile disappers and she turns to look out the window. I sigh and put my head between my legs, trying to calm myself somehow, anyhow. It does not work and before I know it, the door is opening again and the woman is calling my name.

I shakily stand up and force my numb legs to move. As I step through, the woman shuts the door. I hear the tumblers lock the door, securing everything inside. Ahead, I see the Gamemakers in a sort of balcony where they have sat for the past few days. I move in front of it and look up at it. Of course, they have started to get bored and are possibly not even caring about the lower districts. They don't even look when I step in. I notice that a few are watching me carefully. I turn to my left and immediately see the silver, sleek archery set that I have been eyeballing the whole training time.

I walk over and pick it up. It is light and the metal is cool and soothing to my hot, clammy palms. I pull on the string a few times to try to get used to the feel of it. But my time is running out so I pick up an arrow and move to the targets, shaped like humans. I look down the eyesight, acquring my target. I try to keep my arm as still as possible, not wanting to twitch the slightest as this private session could possibly be life or death for me. There is no draft in the gym and my aim is right in line with the bulls eye. Without a second thought, I let the arrow go, watching as it flies straight into the center of it. I smile a bit and turn to look at the Gamemakers. What I see is not pleasing.

Now not even the ones that were watching me are paying attention. Apparently one of the Gamemakers are providing better entertainment than I am because they are all crowded around something. I feel the anger welling up through me. I look around for some way to get their attention and see the perfect thing. I walk over and pick up the small, silver grenade from a table set up with them. I know that it is probably nothing more than a smoke grenade since they would not want one of the tributes blowing up the Training Center. I weigh it in my hand, calculating how much effort it would take to be able to throw this. Finally, I pull the pin and throw it as soon as it starts hissing. It lands under the table in the Gamemakers' section.

In under five seconds of landing, the smoke starts to pour from it, making a thick wall of it. As I hear them start to cough and panic, I jog to the wall that their balcony is on and find the smallest foot and handholds to climb up on. Since the wall's design is almost like shelves, it is quite easy. Right as the smoke starts to recede, I am up on the table the grenade landed under. All the Gamemakers stare up at me when they are able to see me, mouths agape. I clear my throat and speak. "If you all are ready, I would be pleased to show you my talent," I say in the most pleasant voice I can manage.

They all nod, their eyes wide. I jump down from the balcony, heading back towards the dummies. As I walked, I passed the camouflaging and got a brilliant idea. One that would probably get me killed. I grab the colors I need and a throwing knife on my way. I set the bow and arrows and the knife down and walk up to the dummy. I take one color then the next and begin to paint the head with my fingers. I step back to observe my work after a few minutes and am satisfied with what I see. I have seen pictures of Seneca Crane before and have been able to make a rough interpretation of him on this dummy.

I walk back to where my weapons wait and smirk as I face the target that looks just like the executed Gamemaker. I first grab my knife and throw it. It hits right where I was intending for it to hit. The knee. I quickly draw an arrow and pull it back on the string. After positioning it just right, I let the arrow fly. It hits right in the heart of the target. The timer then sounds, and I turn again to face the Gamemakers. I know that they know of Seneca and what happened to him. I know he is probably one of their inspirations for this year's Games. And I know that this has given them a good scare as a few are trembling and the other's mouths have dropped even wider.

I give a little bow and walk out, smiling all the while. I bet they think I'm crazy. And that's fine with me. Maybe that's what will keep me alive.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I worked on most of this chapter in my English class since I had finished my report and turned it in early. And since FanFiction is blocked at my school, I had to write it... Ugh. I hate writing a story on paper. It takes too much time and you think you've written a lot when all you've written is two pages. But anyway, here's Nineteen.**

* * *

**NINETEEN**

I sit hunched forward, trying desperately not to rock. My father's strong hand rests on my back, rubbing soothing circles. "I'm sure it will be fine," he tells me, offering a small smile.

I shake my head. "I'm going to get a terrible score," I say for the umpteenth time. I feel a headache coming on and look around at all the people watching me. My eyes land on Haymitch. "You don't happen to have a flask, do you?" I ask him, ignoring the disapproving look I get from Mother.

He shakes his head, chuckling. "If I did, sweetheart, I would be drinking away my own worries," he says snarkily. "Not yours."

Wynona sighs and taps her foot. "Will you not just tell us what you did?" she asks exasperatedly.

I stare at her for a few minutes, then shake my head. "No. Not unless my score is decent. Then I might."

At that moment, the anthem plays and the Capitol seal comes on the television screen. They are ready to show the scores. I watch and listen as each tribute's picture comes up and their number flashes (anywhere from zero to twelve). The Careers average anywhere from an eight to a ten. Even young Gia receives a seven. The boy from Four comes out with a ten. The familiar-looking girl from Five gets a six. The lower districts get anywhere from a three to a six. The scores fly by and they are finally at District Twelve.

_"From District Twelve,"_ says Vick Treagan, reading off of sheets of paper, _"Chisel Hawthrone."_

Chisel sits forward in anticipation, his eyes showing nervousness for once.

_"Chisel has a score of... ten!" _Vick says excitedly, getting the audience drawn in once again.

Everyone whoops and congratulates Chisel. He smiles proudly and sits back, looking relieved. He has not told us what he has done so it makes me wonder what he showed them. Why would he be so worried?

_"From District Twelve," _Vick says, snapping my attention back to the screen, _"Sapphire Mellark." _His eyes widen as he reads the next line. I hold my breaths, expecting a one or two. When he speaks, my heart drops. _"With a score of... _thirteen!"

I gasp in a breath as the rest cheer. I got a score of thirteen out of twelve? Is that even legal? I'm sure Nicola will be very angry with the Gamemakers and possibly have them all executed when the Games are over.

"Sapphire!" Father exclaims, grabbing me by the shoulders and pulling me up. "This is fantastic! No one has ever accomplished this!"

I feel a smile creep on my face and nod. "This is great," I say slowly, trying to believe that this really happened. "This is wonderful. I... I don't know what to say?" I turn to look at every one of their faces. "Is this even possible? A thirteen out of twelve? Is that against the rules?"

Lincoln shrugs, a huge smile plastered on his face. "Who cares?" he says. "The important thing is that you did it. This is just the start, Sapphire. There are much bigger things in store for you."

I shake my head, making everyone stop their own way of celebrating. "But what will they do to me? For what I did to them to make them give me that thirteen? I don't think I've exactly found favor in their eyes." I then explain to them everything that I did in my private session. The grenade, the painting. The looks on their faces and how I was smiling like a madwoman when I walked out. "They probably hate me. I know they hate me."

Haymitch pushes forward, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Sweetheart," he says slowly, looking me dead in the eyes. "They may hate you but the thing that matters is they fear you. Why do you think they gave you that thirteen rather than a zero or a one? If they did that, they would be sending you the message that they were simply amused by your performance and that they are not threatened by you. They would think you wouldn't make a good show so no one would want to sponsor you, therefore killing you off quickly because you wouldn't have the supplies you need. By accomplishing this, though, they want you to get good sponsors and be able to stay in the Games longer. The worst they can do is make your time in the arena hell, and they already are doing that. So for now, keep your chin up and be proud of that number because they could have easily dismissed your actions and given you a much lower score."

I nod and sit back down on the couch. Now, no one feels like celebrating mine and Chisel's fantastic scores. Instead, we all sit there in silence until someone mentions it is close to time for supper.

* * *

I run. I run with no specific destination other than to put as much distance between myself and the Careers. I take another step and find myself falling as my foot makes contact with nothing. I roll up in a ball so that maybe I won't be as badly injured when I make impact with the ground. But instead of hitting the dry, hard forest floor, I crash through something and am immediately met with what feels like a thousand tiny knives. I open my eyes and see rays of light dancing around above me. I am underwater.

I push up with my legs and arms, desperate to break through the surface. I finally do and gasp in as much air as I can. I look up to see the Careers staring down at me from a low cliff. They all start laughing, getting their hopes up again as they see I am still alive. I swim as quickly as I can to the bank and scramble onto it, hurrying to get my footing so I can run away. But before I make it there, I catch my reflection in the water. I am no longer Sapphire Mellark, daughter of Katniss and Peeta Mellark, tribute in the 77th Hunger Games. I am Katniss Everdeen, volunteer for the 74th Hunger Games and the Girl on Fire.

Now as my mother, I continue to run, sprinting as fast as my now shorter legs will take me. I can hear the Careers crashing after me, whooping and hollering. I almost make it to a decent tree to climb whenever I trip over a root and land on my knee, crushing it and ripping the skin off. I scramble to get up only to have a heavy foot step on my back. I lay back down on the ground, an _oof _leaving my mouth.

The person rolls me over on my back so that I must face them. It is the leader of the Career pack, the boy from District Two. He kneels down until he is practically sitting on my abdomin. He grins as he examines my face closely. "Poor little girl on fire," he practically purrs to me. "All tangled up and no one to help her. Seems like water wasn't enough to extinguish the flame." He looks back over his shoulder and the girl from One hands him a knife. He smiles and dangles it over my right eye. I squirm, fighting hard to get out of his grasp. Each time I move, he lets the handle of the knife slip a fourth of an inch from his grasp. I finally stop and accept my death. But not without trying to reason first.

"Why are you doing this, Agro?" I ask him, my mind still my own rather than my mother's. I learned that this is the boy from District Two's name. "It doesn't have to be like this."

Agro starts laughing loudly. The other's join in. "Agro?" he repeats. "It's true, my name is Agro. It's one of them. But take a good look at me and tell me who I really am, Girl on Fire."

I squint my eyes and rake my memory, trying to remember where I've seen him from. I know he is familiar but I can think of where. Then, as he holds the knife high above my head, I realize who he is. "Cato, no!" I scream before he brings the knife down to connect with my face.

"No!" I scream over and over. "No! Please, stop! Stop!" I writh in his grasp, trying desperately to get out, to stop my suffering.

It seems as if some force is drawing me out. I am aware of three things. Someone with a tight grasp on my hand, someone stroking my hair out of my face, and a faint voice calling to me, distinctly male. I slowly open my eyes, feeling shaky, and expect to see my father kneeling by my bed, comforting me. But instead I see Chisel, watching me with a soft expression on his face. He gently strokes my hair though there is none left to push out of my face. "You're okay, Sapphire," he whispers. "You were just dreaming. It's alright."

A wave of serenity flows through me as he gently wipes tears that must have fallen in my sleep away. At that moment, the door bursts open and my mother and father come inside the room. Their eyes first lock on Chisel. "Is Sapphire okay?" Mother asks frantically. "We heard her screaming."

He nods, knowing that I probably don't have the strength to speak at the moment. "Yes," he says softly. "She's fine. She was just having a nightmare. She's okay now."

I can feel them looking at me though I am not looking at them. I am watching Chisel, the careful expressions on his face as he returns to his emotionless mask of a person. He releases my hand and stands up. I immediately miss the warmth that it brought my icy, shaking hand. He brushes past my parents as he starts to leave. But before he makes it out of the door, my father calls to him. "Hey, Chisel," he says, looking at him carefully. Chisel turns back to face him. "Thank you," Father says slowly as if to make sure he gets the words. Chisel nods and heads out of the room, closing the door silently behind him.

Mother comes to sit beside me on the bed. She runs her fingers through my disheaveled curls, trying to soothe me. "You okay, baby? I know it must have been terrible," she says softly, the words light and feathery like only a mother can make them.

I nod and look at her carefully. "I have something to tell you about," I say carefully, hesitantly. They listen closely as I explain to them about Agro and Cato being the same people. They tell me that it is impossible, that Cato is dead. This ends in us going to the lounge and looking at videos of Cato while looking at videos of Agro since the screen on the television allows you to view more than one thing at a time. We finally freeze both screens on shots where both of them are looking directly at the camera. As I look back and forth between them, I see that there are only a few differences between them. Cato's jawline is not as sharp as Agro's. Agro's forehead is not quite as high as Cato's. Cato's bottom lip juts out more than Agro's does. Other than that, they are exactly the same in looks and build.

Mother shakes her head and stares at the two pictures. "They did this on purpose," she says agitatedly. "I know they did. They wanted to give you something to fear so they went to the training center in Two and picked the closest person to Cato as they could get. They wanted to make you relive history. If this doesn't pass the line of immoral, I'm not sure what does."

I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding in and slump against my father, feeling tired yet awakened. "I just want to sleep on it," I say though I would rather do anything but. "We'll worry about this in the morning."

Father looks at the clock on the far wall and sighs. "She's right, Katniss," he says. "It's getting late. She needs her energy tomorrow." He slings my arm around his neck and lifts my legs off the ground, cradling me to his chest. Normally, I do not want to be picked up or carried but tonight, I do not protest and simply bury my face in his collarbone. He stops twice to let Mother open my door and to lay me down in my bed. I snuggle down in the covers and watch as they turn to walk out of my room.

"Wait," I say, causing them to stop and look at me. I rub my sheets between my fingers, feeling sheepish as I say the next words. "Will you stay in here? At least until I fall asleep?"

Mother looks at Father an shrugs. She crawls into my bed, laying on one side of me while he takes the other side. I feel like a young child again when they do, squished between them and feeling safer as if they were two fortresses no one could break. Father strokes my hair, one of my favorite feelings in the world. "Just close your eyes and relax," he whispers. "You'll be asleep in no time."

I do as he commands and let my exhaustion take over my body. It seems as if barely five minutes have passed before I am deep in sleep, never to come out.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: So, guys. There's this reader who calls themself BOB that reviewed on every single one of my chapters. They left me some questions & things to point out. I am going to answer them here before moving on to Chapter 20.  
1. ****_Q: "Why do you have to be so awesome?"  
_****A: I'm not sure why I'm so awesome. I didn't even know I was awesome. I guess I just do whatever and that comes off as awesomeness. Usually, I get creative & strange. Awesome is a new one.  
2. ****_Q: (about Chapter 18) "You copied this from the second book._****"  
A: Good observation! This is somewhat like the private session from ****_Catching Fire. _****Only I want to point out that Katniss did not threw a grenade at the Gamemakers & threw a knife & shot an arrow at the Seneca dummy. Also, I feel that I made Sapphire seem a bit more daring than her mother by making her paint Seneca's face on the dummy rather than just his name, causing the reality of his execution sink in better than just writing the name. Along with this, when she threw the grenade, she was not sure whether it was just a smoke bomb or not. So that should have made her seem brave because she could have easily blown up both the Gamemakers & herself. Another thing is if you look closely in the most of the chapters, there is a common phrase that is repeated that is an important detail for this story. I honestly felt very happy that you reviewed ****_every single one _****of my chapters, but that one comment frustrated me. Don't take this personal, I just felt the need to point it out because I'm sure it was not just you who thought this. And I think that you are awesome as well.  
3. ****_Q: "When are you going to update again?"  
_****A: RIGHT NOW!**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Hunger Games.**

* * *

**TWENTY**

I wobble in the heels that Wynona provided me with. My feet were too big for her shoes so she had to find me some. I keep telling myself as I try to keep my balance steady that these are the best she could get. But I know she probably got them intentionally. I tower over her four inches more than I had before, easily making me six-foot-two.

She barks orders at me as I try to get everything exactly right. Sit up straight, smile more, cross your feet at the ankles, do not play with your hair. Mother tries making it more enjoyable by acting silly or making faces behind Wynona's back. However, it is always shot down by the Captiol lady's scrictness. Finally, Mother huffs agitatedly and throws her hands up. "My goodness, Wynona," she says, coming to stand behind me, rubbing my shoulders. "She's not going to learn all the Capitol's ways in three minutes. She's a teenage girl, not a princess."

Wynona, too, sighs and looks down at her fancy diamond watch, shaking her head. "It's time for her to go see Haymitch and Peeta anyway," she says, sounding a bit relieved to be rid of me for the next few hours. I am also glad to have a break from her for a while.

As I walk out of the room, I kick the heels off and return to my comfortable, flat-footed height of five-ten. The elevator door opens and as I being to walk inside, I almost collide with someone. "Watch where you're going, Mellark," Chisel said, fiening annoyance. He then looks me up and down in the dress that Wynona forced me in, which - now that I am barefoot - I am trying not to trip over.

I snort very unladylike, smiling as I think about how disapproving Wynona would be. I shove the heels into his chest and wink at him. "Good luck, Hawthorne," I say, waving as I walk into the elevator. "You're going to need it." I feel much more comfortable whenever I enter the room with Haymitch and Father.

They sit me down in a chair, where I be sure to disobey every rule that Wynona gave me. They bombard me with questions about my personal life as if neither of them already knew. I knew that they were trying to come up with an angle for me but I was starting to get annoyed, trying to answer the question honestly but without revealing too much. Eventually, I got tired of that and answered the questions with the wildest answer possible.

Haymitch sighs and slams the notecards down. They scatter on the floor, making a big mess for the Capitol servants to pick up. "Why can't you be more like your father?" he says, leaning forward with his head in his hands.

I shrug and start knawing on a nail until I remember how hard my prep team worked to get it shaped perfectly since "they were so damaged." I take a sip of the water set up for me. "Why don't you ask him?" I say. "It's his fault not mine. And Mother's too, of course." I set my glass down and look up at him. He is looking at me curiously, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "What?" I ask cautiously.

He chuckles, rubbing his hands together excitedly. "Why didn't I think of this before?" he says mostly to himself. He starts to laugh loudly, throwing his head back. "This is brilliant!"

I look at Father worriedly. I jerk a thumb towards Haymitch. "The old man has officially gone crazy," I mumble to him. "Even without the alcohol. This is the part where we run away screaming. I suggest we go ahead and get an eight-second head start."

Father rolls his eyes but smiles. He turns to Haymitch and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Haymitch, I'm pretty sure that Sapphire needs to know," he tells him. "That is unless you've thought of an excellent to sneak alcohol in for yourself."

Haymitch shakes his head and pushes Father's hand off of him. He leans closer to me, pulling me in by the loose ribbons on my dress. "I have the perfect angle for you," he says to me. "And it doesn't even require any pretending. Well, very little anyway." I nod to tell him I am listening closely. "Play the poor girl whose family has already been through too much, who doesn't deserve to die because of this fact. Everyone knows what your parents have been through. Maybe if you play it just right, people will take sympathy on you and sponsor you in the arena. They can send you supplies that you need to survive."

I shake my head, thinking of things that he hasn't. "But what if-"

He clamps a hand over my mouth. I glare at him though it has no affect on him. "No," he says firmly. "No buts. Just trust me, sweetheart. This is your moment to shine and make the viewers fall in love with you."

I gulp hard and nod. He removes his hand from my mouth and it finds mine. He looks my dead in the eyes, completely serious. "You're going to be lovely," he says softly. "I know you will."

* * *

I stand with the other twenty-five tributes, fidgeting with the clear and blue jewels and pearls on my sapphire blue dress, being careful not to make a runner on the sheer sleeves or run my fingers through my perfect, tamed ringlets falling over one shoulder. I feel someone place their hand on the small over my back. They lean down so that their breath blows in my ear. "Stop it," they say. "You look beautiful."

I turn to face Lincoln. I take a deep breath. _In, out, in, out. _"I'm sorry," I mumble to him. "I'm just so nervous."

He looks around and pulls me to a more reserved place. He gently takes my face in his hands, being careful not to ruin the makeup that Tear so perfectly applied. "Don't be nervous," he says. "You'll be fine. Just answer as honestly as you can."

I continue to try to calm myself down. "I'm scared I'm going to say the wrong thing," I say quietly, guiltily. "That I'm going to make everyone hate me. That I won't get any sponsors."

He smiles and repins a piece of hair behind my ear. "With a score of thirteen and being the daughter of the star-crossed lovers from District Twelve, I don't think that's the part you need to worry about," he says. "What you need to worry about is the Gamemakers. They're already furious about what you did in the private session. They're sure to give you a hard time in the arena but don't give them a reason to make it even harder."

At that moment, someone calls for time to start and Lincoln has to go sit with the other stylists. He kisses my cheek and whispers, "Just make them see your softer side but play up your strength too. They'll love you. I know it." And like that, he is gone.

I step in line in front of Chisel, the setup different from the previous years. Perhaps because the stage was torn down after the Rebellion. He watches me carefully, his midnight black suit matching his eyes. "You alright?" he asks me as I approach. "You seem kind of... shaky."

I shrug and try to keep a straight face. My palms are starting to sweat so I am trying to keep them off of the absorbant fabric of my dress, scared I am going to stain it. "Just a little nervous," I say, sounding smooth to my own ears though I might be anything but to him. "It's not big deal."

He places a hand reassuringly on the middle of my back. It sends a spark of energy through me that for once today is not from anxiety. He grins at me slightly. "I've got you," he says. "Don't worry."

The next few hours fly by. I've caught a few of the tribute's angles and personalities. The Cato doppleganger from Two is, like the boy he resembles, over-confident and believes his strength is the thing that can get him through the Games. Giovanni plays the innocent, sweet girl, an normal angle for a younger tribute, especially a girl. However, there were still times when she the things she is capable of, maybe making the other tributes think twice about her. The boy from Four was actually quite charming, funny, and witty. When he revealed to be only fourteen, I was surprised because I guessed him to be at least sixteen. I knew the Careers would be clawing for him to be in their group when they got in the arena. The girl from Five was quite intriguing. Though her angle was not certain, she was a pleasure to hear speak. She knows how to work the audience just right.

Finally, it is time for District Twelve. I run my hands along the walls, hoping maybe some of the sweat will off so I won't be tempted to wipe them on dress. I wait behind a wall that leads right onto the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Vick Treagan's voice booms through the speakers, "our next tribute is quite famous. Some of you call her the Little Girl on Fire. Others the Mockingjay Chick. I've even heard rumors that some people from her district call her 'the chick on fire.' But most of you know her as the Crown Jewel. Well, here she is. Sapphire Mellark!"

But I cannot move. I am frozen in place, simply staring out at the stage. I am subconsiously deciphering whether or not I should run away right now. The foolish part of me overpowers the sensible part, and I turn to start running.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: The last one was kind of a filler so I'm going to try to go ahead and get this one finished in the same night. If I don't, I'm sorry. But here's Chapter 21.**

* * *

**TWENTY-ONE**

And something hits me across the stomach.

One of the backstage workers all but push me onto the stage. I walk out, staring straight ahead at Vick, his orangish-reddish hair almost like a beacon. The audience roars as I come out and make my way across the stage. Vick smiles and reaches out his hand to me. I take it robotically and we sit, me grateful because I felt like my knees were about to give out.

"Sapphire," he says, smiling at me, "how are you feeling tonight?"

I take a deep breath, using my diaphram rather than my lungs because it would make it quieter and harder to see. "I'm alright," I say to him. "A tiny bit nervous."

He laughs easily and nods. "That's perfectly normal," he says. It's a simple thing but it makes me feel better. "You look stunning tonight. Which reminds me, I was absolutely floored during the tribute parade." Here, the crowd cheers. I look out at them and smile genuinely. This makes them cheer more. Vick quiets them down and looks at me again. "What were your thoughts when you went out?"

I pause for a millisecond, trying to think of the right response. _Answer honestly. _"Well," I say, "I was just hoping I wasn't going naked the rest of the way." The crowd bursts into laughter at this. I force myself to smile rather than look confused.

After they have calmed down, Vick speaks again. "Well, it was almost as grand an entrance as your parents'," he says. "It definately earned you the name 'Crown Jewel.' And you really are a Crown Jewel, I must say. You're a sapphire, you're a diamond, and you're the child of _two _victors, untouchable. Speaking of which, do you plan to bring back your parents' flames?"

I am quiet because I am not sure what to say. I know that this question was set up for me, to give the Gamemakers something to make my life even worse in the arena. I look around and spot Lincoln. He is watching me curiously and I finally come up with something. I smile at Vick. "Well, you can't spell 'Sapphire' without having 'fire' in there," I answer, knowing that this doesn't exactly fit because the _fire _in _Sapphire _is spelled with a _P-H _rather than an _F. _However, this sends the crowd into a riot of cheers.

As I hear these cheers, and see the looks on these people's faces, I begin to think that maybe there are more rebels in here than I expected. Maybe most of them are on my side rather than Nicola's. Thinking of this helps me to relax a bit so I try to keep that mindset.

Vick smiles back at me and nods. "Of course," he says, humor in his voice. "Why didn't I think of that? I'm sure you're going to be a hit in the arena. And I also hear that someone has a birthday coming up. And soon too. Want to tell us about that?"

I hear Haymitch's voice in my head as I look for an answer. _Play the innocent girl whose family has already been through too much. _I cast my eyes down and make my expression sad. As I speak the words, I find that it is true sadness, no pretending. "Yes," I say softly. So softly not even my clip on microphone can catch it and Vick has to put his to my lips. "I'm going to be turning sixteen. Maybe. And, if I make it, I'm quite disappointed I won't be able to celebrate it with my family. My father and mother have been talking about my sixteenth birthday for months, having everything planned out already. I was so looking forward to it. Even just being with my parents and brother for it would be the best birthday I could wish for."

Here, the audience makes sounds of sympathy, and I know what they see me as. A pitiful girl who wants nothing more than to be with her family, who deserves to come home because it would be a tragedy if, after all the Mellark family has lost and been through, to lose their daughter who is about to be or just turned sixteen.

Vick takes my hands in his and looks at my sympathetically. "I'm very sorry to hear that," he says. "But maybe, if you win, you can go home and have something else to celebrate." He now offers me a small, sad smile.

I force a little smile back. "Maybe," I echo. _Keep it sad here, Sapphire. _"But I think we all know that it's really not that simple." I can almost feel the audience's sadness along with mine. I think they now realize that strong doesn't necessarily mean winner.

Vick nods. "Of course," he says. He keeps my hands, rubbing circles with his thumb on the back of my left hand. He looks out at the audience and back to me. "Now, I have one more question before your time is up. About your district partner, Chisel."

I stiffen here and hope that Vick doesn't notice. Out of all the things that I could have been asked, I was not expecting Chisel to be a part of one. Here, I wonder if it is better to lie rather than tell the truth.

"He volunteered for your brother is that correct?" Vick says. After I nod, he continues. "We all saw your reaction to his reaping, and we were all quiet disappointed when we saw it. The display of your love for him was priceless and definitely something to sympathyze with you about. And then, Chisel volunteered for him. What are your thoughts on that?"

I sigh as I rake my mind for answers. I finally decide to answer honestly. "I'm... so grateful," I say, my voice dripping with guilt. "That's so bad I know. I just wish that I had enough time to pay him back in some way. I will never stop owing him for that." The buzzer goes off, indicating that my time is up.

Vick pats my hand. "Well, good luck to you, Sapphire Mellark," he says to me, his voice full of pity. "And may the odds be _ever _in your favor." He stands up, still holding one of my hands so that I have to stand too. "The Crown Jewel, everyone!" he yells, the life back in his voice now. As the crowd starts to cheer, he kisses my hand and motions to the other side of the stage. I cross numbly, grateful whenever someone pulls me back behind a wall, hidden from the stage. Wynona is there to retrieve me.

"You were wonderful," she says though the words barely register in my head. "There are going to be sponsors tripping over one another to get to you. Just wait."

I push past her to chairs set up in front of a monitor showing the stage and the activity going on. I sit in one, feeling like my knees are about to give way. "I feel like I'm going to be sick," I mumble, slumping forward with my head in my hands, ignoring the disapproving look that Wynona shoots me. I look up at the screen to see that Chisel has already made his entrance. I pick up on his angle immediately, as if it wasn't already predictable. It makes me think of the tribute Thresh in the 74th Hunger Games.

"So, Chisel," Vick says causually. "You're enjoying the Capitol?"

The young man beside him shrugs. "It's alright," he says. "Different from District Two or Twelve."

Vick nods, seeming to think. He smiles at Chisel. "That's right," he says. "You're from District Two, aren't you?"

Chisel also nods. "Yes," he says. "But I was born in Twelve."

Vick looks at him seriously. "And you're sister is here too, correct?" he asks him. I can tell this hits home on Chisel, though his face shows no emotion. "Giovanni? The girl from Two?" After a confirmation, he continues. "Now, what are your thoughts on that? Obviously, you two are going to be allies, right?"

Chisel is quiet for a few moments, staring at Vick. Then, he looks down. "It's whatever Gia wants to do," he says, his voice low and rough, resembling that of a wolf. And with the ferocious look, it made him seem even more like the strong, wild dog. If Chisel is a wolf, I know good and well that he is a lone wolf. "If she feels that we should be allies, then we will." And with that, he was quiet. His dark, mysteriousness makes the audience lean forward, wanting to keep deeper and know more. Even I find myself wanting to grab him by the shoulders and shake him as if I can make the answers fall out of his pockets.

Vick looks a bit lost for a moment. He was obviously hoping for more than that, for something to work with. Without Chisel offering him anything, I can tell it is difficult for him. Suddenly, his green eyes brighten and he smiles. "Now, let's move on to your district partner, Sapphire _Mellark. _How does it feel knowing that you have the daughter of _Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark _as your district partner? Do you know each other well? I know her mother and your father were good friends, were they not?"

Chisel nods. "Yes," he says in a sort of bored tone. "Dad and Katniss were friends as children. Sapphire and I have known each other for awhile."

Vick raises his eyebrows and smiles, feeling that they are finally getting somewhere. He leans forward in interest. "So you two are close? Good friends maybe? Is that why you volunteered for her brother?" he asks, pushing farther and farther.

The young man sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, looking down at the ground past Vick's chair. "I wouldn't exactly say that Miss Mellark and I are friends," he says carefully in a voice that says he really doesn't mind. "We never saw each other much before now. As for volunteering for her brother, it was not because our families are friends."

The audience mumbles in confusion, easily heard over the microphones. Vick looks around, seeming to be searching for the right thing to say. While he has been a good host so far, this is difficult for him. He is not like Caeser Flickerman, who can bounce off of something like this and use it. He finally finds the right words. "And what, exactly, is the real reason, Chisel?" he asks carefully. "All of Panem is dying to know."

Chisel nods and leans back, as if preparing to tell a long story. "True," he begins, sounding casual and flat, "that while our families are friends had something to do with it, it is not the initial reason why I volunteered." Here, he leans forward again, his black eyes burning intensily. I wonder what he is going to tell them since I cannot see him telling all of Panem what he told me on the roof. "The real reason is because sending a twelve-year-old boy into an arena with twenty-five - or twenty-four in this case - other children out to kill him is sick. Who does that?" As he was speaking, his voice was growing more and more intense. "It's better to send an eighteen-year-old with a little training into an arena than a young, defenseless, innocent child. And people even find that immoral and twisted."

The silence that hangs in the air is tense and deadly. Vick sits there, speakless, in some sort of trance. Chisel stands up, nods to the audience, and walks off the stage with one minute and fourteen seconds still on his time. I stand up as he approaches. "Chisel," I say, trying to get him to stop. He stalks past me without hesitation. I grab his arm to pull him back but he yanks it away and keeps walking.

* * *

I toss and turn in my bed, driven by a nightmare to stay awake but knowing that I need to sleep. Finally, I give up and make my way to the elevator to go to the roof. Once the doors open to it, I run to the railing, ramming into it, stopping. Not caring if the people below can hear me, I let out a scream as if it can take everything away. I stand on the railing, wondering if maybe the force field surrounding the roof is strong enough to stop my heart, like it did Father's in the Quarter Quell. I am seriously considering jumping whenever strong arms wrap around my waist and hoist me down from my perch. Their warmth is welcoming and helps me feel a bit better.

"I don't want to go, Chisel," I mumble, holding one of his arms with a death grip. "I don't want to go." I turn where I can look at his face. He is looking down at me, his black eyes closed off.

"I know," he says quietly. "I know you don't. I don't want to go either." He sits us down on the bench. I move to the grass, though, where Father, Mother, and I sat the other day. The sweet smell of the grass makes me think of home, sitting around in the forest with Sutton on days we were off from school or just needed to escape the every day stress of life. I lay in it, the soft tips tickling my cheek. Chisel sits beside me, watching me curiously. He smiles slightly. "You remind me of a cat," he says. "Rolling around in the grass, running your fingers through it like a cat clawing it."

Suddenly, I am reminded of how Gale used to call my mother Catnip rather than Katniss because he misunderstood when she told him the first time. I sigh, closing my eyes. Then, a thought scurries across my mind. I open them and look up and Chisel to see him laying back, propped up on his elbows, staring at the unnaturally orange sky. "Chisel," I say, getting his attention. I am almost sad to make him because for once his face was almost content. "Why did you say what you did tonight?" I ask carefully. "In your interview? The Gamemakers probably hate you now. They're going to make your life miserable in the arena because they have reason to."

His eyes narrows as he thinks about it. He doesn't look at me as he speaks. "I don't know," he says. "I mean, I'm going to die in there anyway, what does it matter that they torture me? As long as people know the truth and what really needs to happen, it almost seems worth it. The worst they can do is kill me on the spot."

I lay on my side and prop myself up on my elbow, watching him carefully. The way his eyes dart to the left and back quickly when he thinks, how he tends to breath heavily through his diaphram when he tries to calm himself, the way his jaw moves whenever he talks. I shake my head, not even bothering to move my hair out of my eyes whenever it falls. "I don't want you to die," I say before I can stop myself. He looks at me, examining my face to see if there is any hint of a lie there. "Chisel, I want to go home. All of us do. But if I had to choose between you or me living, it would be you. My parents are tough. They've gotten though a lot of pain; they can do it again. But your family doesn't deserve something like that."

Chisel pushes the hair out of my face gently in such a way that it will not fall back down. "And your family does?" he says quietly. "Sapphire, if anyone deserves to keep their child in that arena, it's your family. Your mom has lost her father and her sister. She's had to experience her husband going crazy and trying to kill her. Your father has lost his whole family. His father, mother, and if he had siblings, he's lost them too. They've both had to experience their friends being killed... The last thing that they deserve is to lose their daughter too."

As he says the words the reality finally sinks in that not only has my parents lost family but I have too. Both my grandfathers have passed away, my grandmother. Father always told me about my uncles, how they would always get into brawls and my grandmother would chase them around the house with a rolling pin until they finally locked themselves in a closet and waited for my grandfather to calm Grandmother down. Of course, I would always laugh at the stories and so would Father, but there was always a sadness there in his voice as he told it. My mother would also speak of her father but not as often as Father would talk of his family. She tells me, along with some of the elders in Twelve, that Grandfather was a wonderful man, liked by everyone. She says that he would have loved me and Bey and thought that we were wonderful.

I swallow and lay back down on my back, resting my head in my folded hands behind it. "That's exactly my point," I say to no one specifically. "My parents know how to deal with this kind of stuff. But what about your parents? Who did your father lose? You still have your grandmothers, your uncles aunts. It would be much harder for them to deal with your death than my parents with mine."

There is a moment of silence between us. Finally, Chisel speaks up. "Your mother wasn't the only one who lost a father in that mine explosion, you know," he says, anger hinted in his voice. My breath catches in my lungs as I remember that detail. I feel guilty as he continues. "They also had a stillborn child."

I look over at him, my mouth hanging open. I finally find my words. "Oh, Chisel," I say. "I never knew."

He shakes his head, looking down at the ground. "No," he mumbles. "I didn't expect you to. It was inbetween me and the twins. It was supposed to be a boy. They were going to name him Niko after my granddad. We're not sure exactly what happened. He just... wasn't breathing. I've never seen my mother so broken before."

I sigh, not looking at him now. "Then, that means you should go home even more so," I say, my voice daring him to challenge me. "With Gia in the arena too, that means that not only will they lose two children if you don't make it but three. Chisel-"

"Then Gia should go home," he says, cutting me off. "Gia's the one who should go home if not you. You think I would just let my little sister die so I could be the one to go home? You wouldn't do that with Bey, would you?"

The mention of Bey's name is like a knife stabbing me in the heart. It gives me the energy to get to my feet and nod to Chisel. "I'm tired, " I tell him. "I really need my energy in the morning and so do you."

Chisel watches me for a few moments, then looks out at the Capitol. "I guess I'll see you in the morning then," he says, no emotion in his voice.

I nod. "Guess so."

I finally make it back to my room though I don't remember how. I crawl into my bed, burrowing in the sheets. I look for the most comfortable position though I am sure that I will not be able to sleep now.

* * *

**A/N: Ah! Two updates in one day! Mission = Accomplished. Now say it with me... Who's the best?  
AG's the best!  
Um... I really need some sleep. XP**

**Don't forget to review, guys!**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: And today is finally the day we reach the Hunger Games. I know a lot of you have been looking forward to this. I know I have. So here's Chapter 22**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Hunger Games.**

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**TWENTY-TWO**

Somehow, sleep had been merciful and found me during the night. Though the citizens will get to sleep late since the actual Games don't start until about ten thirty, us tributes are awoken early to start the day. Wynona wakes me gently rather than harshly like she usually does. I sit up without arguing this morning, getting prepared for the coming events. She watches me sadly, says a few encouraging words, and leaves me to my own devices after giving me my instructions for when I am ready.

As I step out into the hallway, I am not surprised to see my parents and Haymitch waiting outside my door. I look around to see if I can spot one more person. "Chisel?" I mumble, noticing his door is open and there are Capitol workers coming in and out of it with cleaning supplies.

"He left about three minutes ago," Haymitch says, watching the people with sad eyes. He is not much of a people person, but I can tell that Haymitch saw something in Chisel though he never let the boy know. "They're expecting you quite soon. We best not keep them waiting." He takes me gently by the shoulders and makes me look at him. "There should be a bow in the arena," he says slowly. "It'll be near the mouth of the Cornucopia. Don't go for it in the bloodbath. The best chance you have is waiting until nightfall to retrieve it. If you do, though, get in, get out. There's a very good chance the Careers will also come back and take whatever there is." He pauses here, looking me up and down. The last thing he tells me is, "And most of all, Sapphire Mellark - stay alive." He kisses my forehead and steps back.

My father crushes me to his chest. I can tell from his raged breathing that he is trying hard not to shed tears. I admire him for trying. I lift my head to look at him. "I'll be fine, Father," I tell him quietly. "It's all going to be okay. I'm tough. I can take care of myself."

He nods, his lips slowly spreading into a smile. "I know you can, sweetie," he says softly. "I'll get you as many sponsors as I can." He pulls me in again, holding on tight as if he can keep me here forever. "I love you so much."

Tears prick the back of my eyes, but I push them back. "I love you too, Daddy," I mumble into his chest, burying my face in it. His grip gets weaker and weaker until it is completely gone, leaving me to yearn for it until my mother wraps me in her embrace.

Usually, it would be my mother who was holding her tears and my father letting them flow. But now her face is drenched in her tears, her eyes red and puffy. I bend down to her level and rest my head on her shoulder as her arms encircle me. Rather than giving me words of encouragement, she simply says one word over and over again. _Sorry. _"I'm sorry," she says quietly, her voice breaking. "So sorry. I'm sorry, Sapphire."

A bite the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting into sobs. I shake my head against her shoulder. "No, Mother," I mumble. "Please don't do this to yourself. Don't blame yourself for this. It's not your fault. Please just stop." I push her back to make her look at me. "No matter what happens to me in that arena, I do not want you feeling guilty, do you understand?"

"Sapphire-" she begins before I cut her off.

"No," I say. "This is not your fault. No matter what happens, you can't just go into this deep depression where you don't talk to anyone because you feel so terrible about losing me." I grab her arm a bit more roughly than I was intending to but it makes her start to pay attention to me. "Don't turn into Grandmother."

Her grey eyes flare with a light that makes me realize that I have struck home and that we have made a connection. She knows what it's like to lose a mother because of a death. She understands that I do not want Bey to lose his mother because of my death. She nods. "I won't," she mumbles. "I promise you, Sapphire."

I watch her carefully. "Good," I say softly. "I love you, Mother. Please be careful." We share one last embrace before I head to the elevator to meet Lincoln on the roof.

I feel a bit relieved when I see him standing there waiting for me. It seems like almost as soon as I step on the roof, his strawberry blond hair starts to whip around as a hovercraft suddenly appears above us. A ladder is dropped down from it. Lincoln motions for me to step on. I put my feet on the first rung and grab on and something locks my muscles to where I cannot move. The ladder starts to pull up with me still attached to it.

A Capitol woman dressed in all white comes towards me, the world's biggest syringe in her right hand. I try to step down from the ladder but find I still cannot move. As she gets closer to me, my heart beat starts to quicker. I have never been a fan of needles. She sticks the large, long needle into my arm and pushes the plunger home. "What is that?" I ask her as I felt something imbed itself in the muscle of my forearm.

"It's your tracker," she says in a bored tone. As soon as the needle is out, I am able to step off the ladder. "So that you won't get lost in the arena."

I immediately take that what she's really saying is so that they will know where I am so they can set off traps for me. Soon after I am released, they let the ladder down and pull Lincoln up. He decides we should sit by the windows. I agree, wanting to see my last look at the world before I possibly die.

We sit in silence. They bring me food to eat while we ride. I eat enough of it to fill me up but not make me sluggish in the arena. Lincoln loops his prosthetic fingers through mine and it brings me a bit of comfort. Traveling in the hovercraft takes much shorter a time than riding in a train, I observe as I watch buildings turn into trees in less than twenty minutes. It is at least thirty minutes before the windows black out. I look over at Lincoln and raise my eyebrows.

"We're almost there," he says simply, his voice hollow. "To the arena."

My breath catches in my throat as I realize what he is saying. We are getting closer to the arena - to my death and twenty-four other tributes' deaths. Twenty-five innocent about to lose their lives. The knot tightens in my stomach and I try desperately to calm myself though I know it will not work. I continue this until we are lead to the compartments underneath the arena, originally used as catacombs for the earliest Games.

I robotically move to the bathroom and take my time cleaning myself up. I get in the shower and savor the feeling of the warm water on my bare skin as I know I may not ever get to feel it again. I brush my teeth, making sure to do it for a minute or two. I comb my hair gently and let it air dry because my mother always told me she loved it when I let my hair flow naturally even though I thought it was frizzy and unruly, flowing close to my waist since my father never let me cut it short.

I slip on the clothes laid out for me that all the tributes will be wearing. This year, it is a completely white jersey shirt and light grey pants, flexible and easy to move in. I pull on the startch white jacket and find that while it is thin, it is quite warm. I wonder if maybe the arena this year is going to be a white tundra.

I step out and find Lincoln sitting quietly in one of the chairs. He stands to attention as I walk in. He walks towards me and pulls me in. "I have something for you," he says. He pulls back and digs in his pocket for the item, which is evidently small. He finally gets it out and holds it out to me. I gasp in a breath. "You forgot to take it off of you dress last night," he says, seeing the questioning look on my face. "Of course, I had to sneak this in. The Gamemakers would never approve of such a dangerous symbol being in the arena."

I look around as if I could spot what I was looking for. "Thank you," I breathe softly as he pins it on my shirt. "But can they-"

"No," he says, not waiting for the end of my question. "There's no filming in here. Don't worry." He smiles at me softly. "You can say anything you want to in here."

I take a deep breath as he moves around behind and pulls my curls into a braid off my neck. "I really don't have much to say at this point," I tell him quietly. "It seems like almost I say right now is futile. Like everything is my last words."

He nods and sits me down. "Sapphire," he says sternly, causing me to meet his strong, green eyes. "Don't think that way. You are not going to die. You were so strong when I first met you, had such a great willpower. Stop tearing it down. Now is not the time. Maintain that strength in the arena. Don't let anything take it away. If you would have been like this from the start, I would not have any faith in you. But I know that this is not you. Find that girl that I know again and bring her into the arena."

"But Lincoln-"

I am interrupted by a robotic voice. _"Twenty seconds."_

My eyes widen slightly as it signals that my time is getting closer. I look at Lincoln. He is giving me a strong determined look. "You can do this, Sapphire," he says, putting his hands on my shoulders. I put my hand over his real one and remember how he told me about he can no longer partake in archery, something he was passionate about. The lose of his hand was great. And if he could get through it, I can get through this. We stand like this until the voice calls again.

_"Ten seconds."_

I look at the tube on the far side of the room. I cross slowly and step inside. The airtight door slides closed behind me. I watch Lincoln as the voice continues to count. _Five... four... three... two... one._

On one, my plate begins to rise. I turn frantically towards Lincoln as if he could offer some help. He just watches sadly until we can no longer see each other because I have finally entered the arena.

The golden Cornucopia sits in the middle of the circle of the twenty-six tributes. I look around at everything there is to take in. Chisel is three tributes down from me to my right. He too is looking around, taking in everything. Next, I notice that there place we are has trees and vegetation and is indeed not a frozen tundra. However, the forest is thinner than that of my home in District Twelve, and the trees are different, coniferous rather than hardwood, meaning that these are not good trees to take shelter in. The last thing I notice is the weapons and supplies spread around the Cornucopia. And as I look, a horrible realization sinks in. Haymitch was wrong.

There is no bow for me in this arena.


	23. Chapter 23

**TWENTY-THREE**

_I cannot believe that there is no bow. After I showed the Gamemakers what I am capable of, shouldn't they put one in? Why wouldn't they?_

These sorts of thoughts run through my mind as Fluxi Greeneman's voice booms through the arena. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the 77th Hunger Games begin!"

Displayed all around the roof of the arena is a countdown timer, showing the tributes how long they have before they can step off their plate. One minute. One minute is how long I have before I can step off this plate, retrieve what I need and head into the woods to safety. Adrenaline is already coursing through my veins as I watch the numbers on the timer change. I know all the citiznes of Panem are hanging on to the edge of their seats. Though my eyes are glued to the ticking numbers, a movement distracts me for a few moments.

I look down and slightly to my left. The boy from Eight is looking around, a smirk on his face. I could tell from the beginning that he is somewhat cocky and big-headed. His eyes meet mine, and from that slight contact, I can tell what he is planning to do as his eyes challenge me slightly. I shake my head slowly, warning him not to do it. He simply watches me, the same look on his face. "Don't do it," I mouth to him. "No." He continues to watch me as if I am stupid. Finally, he rolls his eyes and does what I was expecting. He sets one foot on the ground, thinking he can go ahead and run.

_BOOM!_

The sound makes all of us tributes jump. The girl standing to the left of his plate screeches as bits of flesh rain down on her. I stand, staring open-mouthed at the spot where the boy used to stand. One death and I am already altered forever. I know that this moment will haunt forever.

Something hits me in the side and causes me to fall. I let out a squeak as I prepare myself to be blown to pieces. However, as I hit the ground, I find that this does not happen. I lift up my head and see that all the other tributes are off their plates and battling at the Cornucopia, some of them already down.

I look around for the person who knocked me over, expecting an ax to swing down on my head or a spear to drive through my heart. Neither of these happen. I quickly scramble up and grab the closest thing to me, a black backpack. As I begin to run, I spot a knife that missed its target stuck in the ground and scoop it up as I pass so that I will not be completely weaponless.

I am about to reach the edge of the forests when something crashes into me. I fall on the ground and look to see the girl still covered in blood and flesh also laying on the ground, watching me like a scared little fawn. Her breathing is heavy, and she puts her hands up as I get quickly to my feet.

"Please don't kill me," she pleas, tears in her eyes. She is at least twelve, I can tell easily. "Please, I don't want to die."

I stare at her, wondering why she would be begging _me _of all the tributes. And then, I remember my score of thirteen, making me seem the most lethal tribute in the arena. The reality that I am here finally sets in when I see the fear in her eyes as I tower over her.

I shake my head and nudge her with my foot. "Get up," I unintentionally growl at her. "Get up right now."

She starts bawling as she stands up. "Please make it quick," she says quietly.

I shove her towards the woods roughly. "Go," I say to her. "Get moving. You have worse things to worry about than me. Run. I'm not going to kill you. Get out of here."

She looks at me wildly and nods, running as fast as her short legs will take her. I am just about to take off again when yet another person hits me. But this person pins me to the ground, not letting me move.

"Aw, how touching," a female voice purrs in my ear. "Letting a little girl live. Too bad we're going to have to kill her after we kill you too." The girl pulls back and I can see that it is the female tribute from District One. Her dark auburn hair falls in front of her face, shadowing it and making her look deadly. She pushes it back with one hand and raises a curved, sick-looking sickle to my line of vision. She holds the curve up to the side of my head so that it wraps around it. "Oh, look at that," she says tauntingly. "A perfect fit. But I as much fun as I would have making you suffer, I have better things to do." She drags the tip down my face and neck until it is at my heart. I take a deep breath, knowing that it would be better to have a quick death than a slow one. I prepare for the blow, accepting my death and waiting for the pain.

However, someone knocks the girl off me, hitting her with what appears to be the pole of a spear. The boy from District Four stands over me, fending the District One girl off. She watches him in fear though she is easily eighteen and he is only fourteen. He looks back at me, his honey-colored eyes meeting mine. "Run, Crown Jewel," he says to me quickly, harshly. I now know how that little girl feels as I get up and run away from the two Careers who are evidently not allies. If he survives this, I seek to make him mine.

Allies...

As I run, I know one of the things I should be doing right now is looking for Alvara if she even made it out. But I am running on full adrenaline right now and have absolutely no idea where I am going or what I am doing. I will hear the close footfalls of other tributes every now and then and head in another direction to get away. However, I know that eventually, my body will get tired and I will have to rest, which it does and I do.

I examine my knife as I sit against the truck of the thickest tree I could find. More a dagger than a knife really, cut in a wicked, curvy shape, the point thin as a needle. I barely press my thumb on the blade and wince as it nicks it. It seems to be useful as a weapon but not very good for skinning squirrels or rabbits. I shove it in my belt and zip my backpack open to examine the contents. There is rope, an empty canister, bug repellant, and an extra jacket. A white one. I groan and take my own white jacket off. I see now why our jacket and shirts are white. In this thin forest, without the proper camouflage, we are easy to spot. As I rake my memory, I do not remember seeing any caves or cliffs. This land is virtually flat.

I begin to rub some dirt on my jacket and shirt and then realize that camouflaging is the last of my worries right now. I skim through the bag one last time and see that my fear is true. There is no food in this bag nor water. And the vegetation in this arena is almost all new to me. There are some plants that I know that do not grow in District Twelve that are safe and I hope silently that there are here. But I am exhausted and my stomach feels far from empty so I lean my head back on the tree and decide to rest for another ten minutes before I start moving again. I close my eyes, not intending to go to sleep.

And open them again as a cannon fires. Mother and Father told me and Chisel that on the first day they will fire cannons when the bloodbath is over, letting the living tributes know that there is another tribute gone. I count on my fingers as one by one a cannon fires.

"Eleven... twelve... thirteen..." I wait for another cannon but there is not one. I let out a breath as I let this set in. Thirteen of us left already. Only half of the people alive today are still here. Thirteen innocent children are dead. I stand up as I think about the fact that one of those thirteen can be Chisel, Gia, or Alvara. Or all three. I walk forward, not sure where but knowing what I am looking for. Food, water, and Alvara. I dare not call her name, knowing doing so can be a beacon to the other tributes to come kill me.

As I walk, I realize how hot it is here in this arena, more humid than District Twelve, giving it the illusion of being hotter. And the mosquitos are much worse here. I pull the bug repellant out of my bag and spray a bit in my hand, using it sparingly as I rub it on my arms and face, getting as much as I can out of the small amount. Still they constantly bite me, and I wince every time I slap one because it makes a loud noise that seems to echo through the forest.

I stop twice. Once to gather raspberries from a bush I found. I saved them for later since I wasn't very hungry at the moment. Once more because I heard the babbling of a stream and followed it.

I near the edge of the stream and dig my canister out. I am about to dip it in the stream when I stop. _This is almost too easy, _I think. Shouldn't finding water in the arena be a bit harder than this? I think back to whenever I watched the 50th Hunger Games, the Second Quarter Quell. Haymitch and the others had to resort to drinking rain water because everything in that arena was poisonous.

I simply stare at the water as it flows around the rocks on the bottom, purifying it of dirt and other particles but not of possible Gamemaker-made toxins. I am about to leave the stream when a russling sound catches my attention. I turn quickly towards the noise, my dagger at ready in case I need it since the sound was very close. However, all I spot is a doe, dipping her head down to get a drink of water. I sigh a breath of relief and put my knife away. If I had a bow and arrows rather than the small weapon I have, now would be the perfect opportunity to get some meat for the next few days. Only, I don't and leaving a large, skinned deer carcass - which is quite hard to hide if you didn't already know - lying around would not be very wise.

I watch her for a while until a squirrel rustling some branches makes her bring her head up and trot away gracefully on her dainty, thin legs. And it is then that I get an idea. After hunting for so many years, I know how to track animals. I can watch this deer at least until nightfall and see if maybe anything happens to her.

I feel that there a couple of times that she suspects me and stop dead still, waiting for her to run away. At one point, she stops and looks around, sniffing. I stop behind a tree, trying to stay as hidden as possible. I expect her to start running but all she does in lay down in small bed of grass. I look up and realize that it is starting to get dark. I know that I need to rest and so I walk around where I can still see the doe but not scare her away, looking for a good tree.

Most of the trees in this forest are thin, with branches that are not good for sitting on. Most don't even look like they could hold my weight (though I am tall, I max at least one twenty-five). If there are good, sturfy-looking branches, they tend to be high up, too high for even my comfort. I finally find a good magnolia tree, wedging myself in a little crook where two branches meet. The tree is situated where I can still spot the doe laying in the grass even through the leaves and big, white flowers.

I pick one off and pinch the large petals in between my fingers. It reminds me of when I was younger, and I climbed up in one of these trees to retrieve a flower for my mother. I got stuck in the tree, petrified for fear of falling out. After crying for help for several minutes, Mother finally came and got me down. She smiled and ruffled my hair. "What were you doing up there, you little squirrel?" she said.

I hung my head and pulled out the flower, which got crushed in my jacket pocket, and handed it to her. She took it and smiled. "Thank you, Sapphire," she said. "It's beautiful. But no more climbing trees without me or Father, okay?"

I nodded, looking up at her. "I thought I was going to fall," I said sheepishly, as if ashamed to confess this to my mother. My mother who feared nothing, or so I believed at six years old.

Mother shook her head. "No, sweetie," she said. "Don't worry about falling. Your father and I won't let you fall down. Never."

The national anthem plays, snapping me out of my thoughts. I look up at the sky to see the names of the fallen tributes displayed. I count on my fingers as their picture and district are shown.

Both the tributes from District Three are displayed and so are both from Districts Eight, Nine, and Ten. The boy that blew up right in front of all of us. This makes eight. The females from Four and Six flash across the sky, making ten. Then, the boys from Five and Seven are shown, making the total twelve. Finally, the girl from Eleven is shown. The twelve-year-old I showed mercy to today. The Careers must have gotten to her after all. The anthem plays again, the Capitol seal appears and disappears. I curl my knees up to my chest as the reality sets in.

Thirteen of us gone already. Thirteen of us left. I am relieved to see that among the thirteen left are Gia, Chisel, Alvara, and the District Four boy. However, it burdens me that none of the Careers are dead. Four must have spared the District One girl. With Alvara still alive, I decide that I will look for her in the morning. I'm sure she will understand that since it is only the first day.

I crane my neck to see if I can spot the doe still laying in the grass. But it is too dark now and as I settle back into place, I realize three things. One, it has gotten very cold. Not like the normal dropping of fifteen degrees at night but it has dropped at least sixty degrees, making it at least in the high thirties. I until my jacket from around my waist and slip my arms through it. I also grab my extra and wrap it around my legs, zipping it quietly.

Two, I am starting to get hungry and thirsty. I pull my raspberries out and begin to eat them. I suck on what little juices I can get possibly to convince myself that I am getting _some _liquid into me. However, the thirst does not die down like I hoped it would. I am anxious for morning so that I can tell if the water is safe to drink or not.

Three, while my allies are still alive, they could be gravely injured and are evidently still in danger. I think of Alvara and how she does not have the ability to climb, especially in this biome where you would have to be an advanced climber to be able to reach some of the branches. With no caves or cliffs, how will she find shelter? Perhaps she is small enough to hide in an abandoned fox or badger hole. Or thirteen-year-old Giovanni, who possibly can't know anything about how to build a shelter. What about Chisel? He is strong and knows how to wrestle but would he stand a chance if he did not get out of the bloodbath without some kind of weapon?

Even with the warm jacket, a shiver goes down my spine. I release my hair of its binding. It falls around my shoulders, bringing me a bit of extra warmth. I apply another coat of dirt and scrape off a bit of tree bark and use the soft, green part on the inside and rub it on the jackets to give them a bit better camouflage. Poisonous river or safe river, tomorrow I will go back to it and camouflage my clothes better. When this is completed, I sit in a comfortable position (as comfortable as you can get in a tree) and tie the rope around me, like my mother suggested to me a couple of days ago.

I pull my hood up on my head and lean back against the trunk. I close my eyes. Unlike the past few nights, I have no doubt that I will sleep tonight because of all the activity and excitement I have had today. I find I am right as I drift off in less than a few minutes.

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**A/N: Day one in the arena. What did you guys think? I had a little bit of trouble with it so I hope I pulled it off alright. I was especially having a bit of trouble with the trees. So I asked one of my friends & she suggested the magnolia tree. So now, I must give her a shoutout.**

**The awesomeness of this fanfic has been made awesomer by RM Quimby. Friend, Fellow Writer, HG Lover, Tree Hugger, and Idea Giver! (Her words not mine.)**

**But I asked her because she spends most of her time in trees like the ginger she is. That's what she does in her free time. Hides out in trees and pounces on people and eats their souls because she's jealous that they actually have souls.  
So yeah. She's pretty much awesome.**

**Oh and don't forget to review.**

**-AGEless**


	24. Chapter 24

**Not Your Average A/N: Hi Guys! It's R.M. Quimby. The Beta for this epic fanfic. You all know me better as the tree hugging ginger who eats souls in her down time. Well I'm also a writer. So when AGEless here comes begging me to write her next chapter because she has a bad case of writer's block and is too busy banging her head into walls and funneling gallons of her spectacular hot chocolate into her system to update, I was more than happy to help. As long as I got free creative license, that is. And guess who agreed? That's right! So hold on to your computerized devices y'all, it's about to get ginger-crazy in this fic. **

**Disclaimer: I nor AGEless is Suzanne Collins. Therefore we are not rich, and do not own (most) of these characters. How depressing.**

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I woke to the sound of a thump beneath me. I untie the knot securing me to my tree and lean up slowly from my position on the branch as to not ruffle the leaves and peek out to see what the noise was. I withhold a gasp and cling tightly to the bark as I take in the sight before me. My doe that I had been tracking now lay dead in the same stop it was in before I drifted into sleep. It's legs are awkwardly tangled and limp, and the throwing knife that struck the killing blow rests hilt deep in the animal's eye socket, glinting in the early morning sun. Another tribute must be close to be able to take out a doe with one blow. I strain my ears to locate the killer and listen. It's only a few short moments before I hear a snap, then another, then a whispered strand of profanities. Thank Mother Nature for limbs. I take note that whoever this tribute is has zero stealth skills but make up for it with deadly accuracy. Maybe I can work the stealth to my advantage. I'm pulled out of my ruminations when I see a white jacket in m periphery. They must not be that clever either, to be walking around in a pure white jacket when your life hangs in the balance. I lean out further from my perch to see who it is. My mouth drops open. It's Alvara! I sigh in relief as she breaks from the tree line and makes her way to her kill. She stoops over the doe's corpse and twists the knife deeper into its eye before yanking it out and wiping it on the grass. She sets to work gutting the deer where it lays, slicing with a quick efficiency I was unaware that she had. I sat for a moment, debating the best way to inform her of my presence, before finally deciding on lightly clearing my throat.

The noise caused her to pause and look up. I do it again, louder this time and she jumps up brandishing her throwing knife and looking around wildly. "Who is it?" she whispers. "Show yourself now. If you don't and I see any sign of movement prepare to become a shish-kabob."

I giggle involuntarily. "Really Ally? Shish-kabob? That's **so **threatening." I see her crack into a smile.

"Sapphire? Where are you?" I shove my extra jacket into my pack and descend to the forest floor. I drop the last few feet, landing right in front of her. She automatically takes a few steps back before remembering that her kill is right behind her, tripping over one of its legs and falling on her back.

"Dang it Sapph! I was doing so well! I made it in and out of the cornucopia, found an ally, and bring down a doe that could last me days and the second I find you it all goes to heck." she says sternly, but her eyes looked relaxed so I knew she was kidding.

"That's my specialty!" I say in a chipper voice. "I destroy people's egos." I laugh lightly and offer her a hand. She grabs it hand I help her up.

"Thanks."

"Now what's this I hear about a new ally?" I asked. I wasn't sure if I had heard right.

"Yep. I'm not a complete waste after all. The guy from four? His name is Finn. I was in a bind with the guy from one and he helped me out of it, we stuck together since." she shrugged.

"He helped me out with the girl from one. She had me pinned and he practically dragged her off me. He must be a regular knight in shining armor." I say, we both crack a grin, and I almost forget we are fighting for our lives in an arena of death. Almost. Not quite. "Well where is he?"

She shrugs, "We split up an hour ago. He wanted to set up a few snares, and I wanted to test my skills at hunting. Hopefully he was as successful as I was. Where supposed to meet by this big tree we found that's close to the cornucopia soon."

"Well, we better finish skinning this thing then or we'll be late. I need to thank Finn for the save." She nods, and with that we set to work. Slicing the sinews and getting pound after pound of meat from the doe. With to capable sets of hand we quickly finished, and I helped her wrap the meat that we salvaged from the animal in a large piece of plastic Alvara produced from inside her coat. As she was pulling the folded up plastic from inside her jacket I noticed a bright glint of metal. I looked closer and realized that they were knives. Three rows of sinister looking throwing knives, in various sizes, lined both sides of her pristine white jacket. I was shocked at her luck. "How'd you get all of these?" She shrugged again and continued wrapping the meat in the plastic.

"They were in this black roll. I didn't even realize what it was until after we got a safe distance from the bloodbath did I decide to unroll it and take inventory. The black thing was actually a vest that lines the inside of our jackets. I hit the jackpot I guess." She tucked the last slab of meat into the plastic and handed it to me, gesturing that I should carry it in my backpack. I sit it in carefully, muttering a silent prayer that it doesn't drench my other jacket in blood.

Once everything is in order Alvara cleans her knife and puts it away. Then gestures for me to follow her. We trek through the woods, passing tree after tree. I start to feel lightheaded from the lack of water in my system. Alvara is very quiet, and when I ask if she has any water all she does is shrug and mutter something about there being plenty at camp and how we're almost there. I decide that if she can handle it I can for a while more too. Finally I notice the trees are thinning out and that a larger one is looming in the distance. Soon we enter a clearing. It's almost a perfect circle, and a tree marks its center. The tree itself looks like an extra-large magnolia tree in full bloom, but it was at least ten times bigger than normal ones, with flowers that look to be the same size as me. Alvara looks back at me and grins. "WE'RE HERE!" She yells. I cringe. Does she not realize that anyone can here that? I put my finger to my lips, politely telling her to shut up. Then I see the shadows coming out from across the clearing. There is four of them in all. As they step into the light I know we're in trouble.

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**Your Average A/N: SIKE! Hahaha! A little trick that R.M. and I came up with! Sorry, guys! I asked her to help me with the next chapter but unfortunately, our ideas didn't exactly match up. But out of my pure generosity, I chose to put her chapter on here for your own enjoyment. This chapter is not truly part of the story. Simply for your sampling of her work. The true Chapter Twenty-Four shall be up by at least tomorrow!**


	25. Chapter 25: Real Chapter 24

**A/N: I know a lot of you probably laughed at that joke last chapter, right? Right? R.M. and I are so hilarious! (Don't kill me. It was her idea. Evil ginger.) But all jokes aside, here's Chapter Twenty-Four.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Hunger Games.**

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**TWENTY-FOUR**

It is safe to say that if I make it out alive, I am never sleeping in a tree again. I wake up very stiff and quite warm though it is only an hour past sunrise. As I shuck off my jackets and throw my hair back into a low ponytail, I look towards the spot where the doe laid last night. I gather my materials into my backpack, unsuccessfully attempt to get all the dirt off of my hands and onto my jacket, and force myself to only eat a few of my raspberries though I know that they will spoil soon in the heat away from their resource. Before I climb down to head in the direction of the doe, I look around to see if maybe my parents or Haymitch had sent me a parachute in the middle of the night while I was sleeping. Unfortuantely, they did not, and I am once again reminded of my thirst.

I head in the direction of where I remember the doe was, hoping that she was just well camoflaged. However, I see that she is not and even if I would have found her dead, I feel that I would not be able to find my way back to the stream since we wandered so far from it. I strain my ears to see if maybe I can hear it or any other source, and get nothing but the trill of the mockingjays' songs. The sound makes me think again of my parents. How are they holding up? Seeing, not just me, but the other tributes in the arena must bring back terrible memories for them. And Sutton. How does Sutton feel, watching me?

He would always make jokes about the Games and how I would be one of the ones to go in if there were. Of course, we both brushed it off, thinking it harmless. Neither of us thought that anyone would actually bring them back. Does he feel guilty about the jokes now? He's never been superstitious, but does he somehow feel as if he's jinxed it, always saying I was going to be in it? Like me, he's never had very many friends. Unlike me, though, he is a very likeable person and will have no trouble finding new friends. Has he already found new friends? Or does he have faith that I will come home?

My nose begins to tingle, tearing me from my thoughts. I scratch it, trying to make the feeling go away. However, it does not, and I begin to sneeze. Loud. I clamp my hand over my mouth to muffle them as I sneeze not once, but four times in a row. When I am finished, my eyes feel prickly and puffy. I rub them violently as my nose begins to itch again. I squeeze it and the sensation goes away immediately. I shake my head to clear it of the stuffy feeling and keep walking. Only to stop as I sneeze again, much quieter this time.

I blow air out through my mouth because now I cannot breathe through my nose. I scratch my neck where a mosquito bit it last night and begin to walk again as I wonder what's wrong with me. I have a strong immune system, rarely ever sick. Most of the kids in my class can be out of school with a cold and I can be perfectly fine the whole flu season. Of course, since medicine is now District Twelve's main industry, it's really not that hard to get it, but I never really need the Gamemakers released an extremely contagious virus into the arena to slowly kill us all off, I doubt that I am getting ill. I have never felt anything like this since I had a cold over a year ago.

I hold my hand over my nose in case I feel another sneeze coming on. I feel heavy and miserable as I forge on in search of water. Half of me hopes that at some point Mother or Father will send me water and half of me hopes that they will send me medicine to get rid of whatever this is that is bugging me.

By the time that noon rolled around, I was sweaty and hot, had eaten the rest of my raspberries, and feeling my energy drain slowly due to lack of water and rest. I learned in one of my science classes that a human can go at least a month without food and only three without water. So right now, water is my main priority. My heart drops to my stomach every time that I turn to what I think is what I hear as a creek or river and find nothing, reminding me each time of my increasing thirst. Mother once told me that a person is supposed to drink eight glasses of water a day and she always made sure that Bey and I got that much, knowing that we could be much less fortunate to even get one glass a day. At the moment, I would give anything for just a drop. I know that it is not that simple. I should have just taken the water that I found yesterday.

I stop to rest, leaning back against a tree, my face feeling as if it is on fire. I look down at my arms and see that they are a pinkish-red color, either because I am very hot or because I am getting a sunburn. I sigh as my miserable feeling seems to be getting deeper and deeper. I sneeze again and wipe my grubby nose on my sleeve, knowing that Wynona is probably disapproving as a clear line of mucus covers it. I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth and push my two fingers up on the place between my eyebrows, remembering an old trick my grandmother taught me to help clear sinuses for a little while. I used it a lot whenever my allergies flared up.

Allergies...

I groan as I think about the fact that my allergies are probably the problem. Only that doesn't seem logical. When I was little, my parents had me allergy tested and then given allergy shots because they were so bad. I try to remember how long the doctor said they would last for. Ten years. I was five during my last one of the required four. Of course. They've worn off. And there must be more of something I'm allergic to here than there was in District Twelve. I press my hand tight against my mouth to stiffle my sneeze as the sensation comes again. As usual, I sneeze several times before I finally stop and feel stuffy when I finish. To add to that, I feel disgusted when I slap a mosquito on my arm and find that it is full of blood, and my arm stings where I slapped it, confirming that I have sunburned. I watch as it goes from a pale handprint back to a dark pink.

"I have something for that."

I jerk my head up, feeling unafraid because the voice that spoke was a small, young voice, not an older, intimidating one. There is only one other person I know in this arena that is so young that their voice has not changed yet. I smile as a head of dark hair, similar to mine, peers around a tree. "Yeah?" I say, watching Gia carefully.

She comes out completely, a ghost of a smile on her face. "Yeah," she says. She pulls a tube out of her bag and squeezes a bit of what looks like pink lotion in her hand. She sits down next to me slowly and gently rubs some on my arms. Almost immediately the heat is gone. "This stuff is supposed to help keep you from getting burned too," she tells me as she wipes what's left of the residue on her hands. As she does, I notice that her arms are covered in pink bumps, topped with little, red, bloody patches. She also has one on her neck and cheek, which must be very difficult to keep from scratching. I've learned the hard way that scratching a bug bite can make it infected.

I pull my can of bug repellant out of my bag and hold it out to her. "Here," I say, resisting the urge to scratch at a bite on my finger. "This should help keep those mosquitos off. It might sting on the ones that you've scratched the skin off of though."

She nods and sprays some on her arms and wipes some of the drips on the can on her finger and smeared them on her face. The smell was very strong and repulsing but it was worth it knowing that it was one of the things that would help keep us alive. We are quiet for a few moments, not sure exactly what to say to one another. Finally, she speaks up. "Are you thirsty?"

I look at her. "You have water?" I ask, hoping I do not sound as desperate as I feel. I would give my own hand at the moment for water. My hopes soar whenever she pulls out a silver canistar. However, she just holds it in her hands, rubbing her thumb over the top. "I drank all of it on the way around the arena," she says quietly. "But I'm pretty sure I know the way back. I put little markers around."

I smile, packing the repellant back in my bag and offering her a hand up. "Well, I guess we had better get moving then," I tell her.

As we weave through the forest, Gia in the lead, I am brought back to District Twelve to Bey's first day of school. He was so excited that he ran ahead of me and I had to call for him several times. Finally, we got lost because he thought he knew the way and he was too far ahead to hear me calling directions. He had the most confused look on his face whenever he ended up in front of the medicine factory. I know he was carefully logging directions as I dragged him sulking along behind me. I feel the same way now, lost and confused while paying good attention to directions as Gia guides me through the forest to this place where the water is. The two of us jump as another cannon sounds.

Gia looks at me with wide eyes, her tan skin now pale. "You're so quiet," she mumbles. "Don't- don't leave me."

I shake my head. "No," I say, ruffling her hair. "I'm not going to leave you. Don't worry." I remember that while she may seem like a brave young girl she still is a young girl. I know that she is very clever and has a much a chance to survive as the rest of us.

She nods and faces back to the direction she was walking, putting the brave mask back on that all her family wears so well. "So, who do you think it was?" she says as she looks around for another mark.

I run my hand across a tree with a shallow scratch, easy enough to see but not able to seem as if it was deliberate. I log it in my mind as I try to think of the tributes shown in the sky last night."How many are left?" I ask her, for some reason trusting her memory better than mine.

She slows down a bit as she thinks, ticking them off on her fingers. "Um... You and me, Chisel, Agro and the two District One Careers," she says, naming them off quite quickly, "the boy from Four, the girl from Five, the boy from Six, the girl from Seven, the boy from Eleven, and both from District Thirteen."

"Hmm," I say, thinking of all their skills I observed in the Training Center. "Well, we know it's not you or me. It's probably not any of the Careers, meaning that Agro and the Ones are okay. Alvara (the girl from Thirteen) is probably fine. You should see her with throwing knives, Gia. The girl from Five-"

"What about Chisel?" she interrupts quietly. This makes me go silent because I know that it must be torturous for her, having her older brother in the arena with her and knowing if it came down to the two of them, one of them would have to kill the other. I wonder silently if she has had the same nightmare that haunted me almost every night. Where she has to kill Chisel and live with it the rest of her life.

Slowly, I shake my head. "You know he's too smart to get himself killed this early. If he's anything like you or your father, he's very clever and knows his survival skills," I tell her. "I don't think you should be worried about him." I know that this is terrible advice because, of course, one cannot simply not worry when their family member is in an arena where they have to fight to the death.

"I tried looking for him," she says as she pats her hand on yet another young tree with a broken branch as a mark. "But it's like he doesn't want to be found, or the Gamemakers don't want us finding each other. You can never tell with Chisel, though."

A thought pops up in my mind as I her words sink in. I swallow down the queasy feeling I get and ask her the question lingering in my mind. "What about Agro? I mean, why aren't you teamed up with him? It's normal for district partners to try to survive together."

She makes a noise that sounds somewhere in between a sigh and a scoff. "What makes you think he's going to want _me _for an ally?" she says matter-of-factly. "A thirteen-year-old with only a year and a half of training (yes, One and Two still have Training Centers)? Agro... He's strong, yes. He's fast, yes. He's also smart. But know this, smart doesn't necessarily mean common sense. Trust me, I have never seen a better example than him. If it was a battle of book smarts - though I don't know your forte in school - he would probably win. But a battle of wits, I think he would lose to all of us. Plus, he's a jerk. More of a jerk than my teacher who smells like my grandfather's pigs."

I smile a bit. Though I do not like the Hawthornes, for some reason I am very fond of Gia. Maybe because she is so young and innocent though she hardly seems so since she is almost as tall as me. I know that I have chosen a good ally. Her own brother may not want her for one, but I would take her in a second after I learned about her.

Finally we find the little pond she was leading to. I barely managed not to splash down in it headfirst. We fill our bottles to the brim, me draining mine long before she does. I empty my bottle at least twice before I finally convince myself to save some. I convince her to hand me her jacket and let me soak it in mud. While we are there, both of us wash off, knowing that this is the closest we will get to a bath in a while. After a while, she asks me a very important question.

"You don't have any food, do you?"

I sigh and shake my head. "No," I tell her guiltly. I look towards the sky and see that it is dusk and getting cool. I rub my itchy eyes and cover my mouth as I sneeze again. After Gia blesses me, I find my voice again and it sounds like my nose is broken. "It's too late to look for some now. First thing in the morning, we'll go, alright?" I try to ignore the grumbling in my stomach as I hear hers, a slight look of discomfort on her face. I wonder how long it has been since she's eaten something. However long it has been, she puts on a brave face and suggests that we keep moving. I agree, finding an oak tree that both of us can sleep in, not too far from the pond.

I am satisfied when she does not argue when I tell her we don't need to light a fire. I tell her I will take first watch as she squeezes between two branches, pulling my extra, now light brown jacket over herself. Her face looks content and relaxed and I can see the first bit of resemablence between she and Chisel. The slope of their nose, the shape of their eyes, how their jaw line protrudes even more whenever they raise their faces in sleep. Other than that, they do not look very much alike. I am not sure why but it has always confused me whenever I see two siblings who look nothing alike. Bey looks more like Mother than I do but other than the few details, the two of us look almost exactly alike. Sometimes - such as whenever he is sleepy - his eyes will turn more blue than grey, and we will look a bit more alike. This may be why, but I have always been interested in how genetics work, possibly from the medical background in my family.

My thoughts are interrputed as the national anthem plays and the Capitol seal appears in the sky. Only one face is shown tonight. I feel relieved as I see who it is and then feel guilty for it, thinking about their family and the pain they must feel. But I shake Gia awake. Her eyes slowly open and groggily meet mine, silver in the moonlight. "What?" she mumbles. "How long has it been? Not that long, right?"

I nod. "No, no. I was just going to tell you that Chisel is okay," I say, forcing a smile on my face. "That cannon today? It was the boy from Eleven. Chisel's alright. He's fine."

A smile plays on her lips too. "Thank you, Sapphire," she says quietly as if she does not want to be overheard. "Anytime you are tired, let me know, okay?"

I again nod. "I will. Thank you. Goodnight."

And I good night I hope it will be.

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**A/N: Hey, guys! Sorry that it's coming so late! I know I said that the real chapter would be up by Tuesday, but I ended up going to a friend's house while we were out! I've been really busy. Play practices Monday & Tuesday, church Wednesday, piano lessons & FBLA study sessions on Thursday, & football games Friday. I haven't had the past few Saturdays off and Sundays are church days too. But I finally got the real 24 done. Hope you liked RM's version of it! She said she was quite proud of herself when she wrote it.**

**Don't forget to review! Reviews = motivation. Motivation = better chapters than this one. Better chapters than this one = great story for you to enjoy.**


	26. Chapter 26: Chapter 25

**A/N: Merry Christmas, guys! This is your beloved author AG writing from her brand new laptop. So, as your Christmas gift from me to you, you get the next chapter!**

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**TWENTY-FIVE**

As soon as I wake up, I start to sneeze. I try to breathe through my nose - without success. I rub my eyes miserably as I shove my stuff into my bag, sneezing once more and wiping my running nose on my sleeve.

Gia sits down beside me on my branch, an eyebrow raised. She looks very much like Chisel when she does this. "Please tell me you're not getting sick," she says, helping me put my stuff in the backpack since I was proving to be a little sluggish this morning.

I shake my head, the movement making the oncoming headache appear quicker. I push my tongue to the roof of my mouth and press upward on the space between my eyebrows, feeling my sinuses open a bit though for it to stay that way, I would have to hold them every ten minuters. "No," I tell her, my voice sounding like I'm pinching my nose, "allergies. Bad ones." I scratch my eyes until they start to throb. I twist my hair into a bun, the temperature feeling hotter today that it did the past two days. I finally move into a crouch, balancing carefully on my branch. "That's irrelevvant though. We need to refill our water carriers and then move on. No telling what the other tributes - or the Gamemakers - could do it we stay in one place."

She nods and carefully begins to climb down, me following after her. She looks up at me, making sure that I am. I'm not sure how such a young kid can be so careful, so logical, until I remember that I am only about two and a half years older and have always been more mature than most kids. This seems to be Gia's case. She lands first, my feet hitting the ground as soo as she was straightening up. She smiles widely at me. "So what's the plan of action today?"

I scratch my nose, wiping my hand on my already grubby pants, trying not to make a disgusted face. I push my hair back, the short piece Lincoln cut sticking to my dry lips. I think about how I packed my bag and then my stomach growls. I rub it, trying to make the hunger pains go away. "We need to look for food," I say, feeling terrible when I see her make a discomforted face and clutch her own stomach. I wonder how long it has been since she last ate. Evidently a while because she didn't have food with her when we first found each other. "We'll find a nice spot and then split up, but not too far from each other, okay?"

She nods, and we begin to walk with me in the lead this time. I have no particular direction picked out bu away. Away from where we were, away from the other tributes, away from this terror. We fill our bottles in the pond, taking tiny sips from them because we know we already need much more than we have now. But we also need to search for food.

The first part of our little journey is very quiet, not saying a word to each other. Finally, Gia nudges me slightly. I look over my shoulder at her. "I told you all about me yesterday," she says, a grin on her face. "Tell me about you. Tell me something good."

I sneeze before answering, leaving me even more stuffy and working quickly to try and clear my nose. "Something good?" I mumbled. Of course, I have many things that are good and happy memories, but I am trying not to think about my family too much while in the arena. It'll only make it harder on me being here. I tighten my bun quickly while thinking. I smile as several memories pop in my mind. "Okay. I'll tell you."

I begin to tell her about my father whenever he is painting, the concentrated yet content look on his handsome face. I tell her about whenever Bey and I used to play in the meadow, and I would pretend to be a daring forest huntress on her way to save a prince. I tell her about my mother's singing.

"Whenever we go hunting, she always sings for the birds," I say, smiling a bit at the memory. "Father always says that when she sings, even the birds stop to listen. He was right, of course. They do."

I turn to see her with her head down a little. "My father says the same thing," she says quietly almost as if it is a crime she is admitting to. "When Mom isn't around, of course. I saw in the Games when she was singing to that little girl - that song was very pretty. We don't sing it in District Two."

I smile at her though her words tug at my empty stomach. I am starting to miss my mother and the reminder of her voice only makes it worse. And the thought of her singing to Rue - not much younger than Gia - when Mother was in the Hunger Games - not much older than me. It's a little torturous. I swallow a bit. "What about Rue's meldoy?" I mumble. "It was pretty too."

Gia smiles too and nods. "Yes," she mumbles. "How did it go?"

I scratch my nose whenever I get the feeling I am about to sneeze. "Um... I think like this." I open my mouth and sing the four-note tune that Rue had made up. I was surprised to hear that my voice was clear and sill rang through the forest like bells. Whenever I stop, the forest is silent, not a mockingjay song to be heard.

"Do it again," Gia mumbled, staring up into the trees.

I took a breath and once again sang the melody, loud and clear for the birds to hear. It was silent for a few more seconds and then the forest was filled with the song, some a higher octave, some an octave lower. A few were a completely different key and others mixed the notes to create a completely new song. A weight on my chest lifts a bit as I remember what the melody means.

It means safety. It means we are safe. And I feel that Gia and I are safe. Not that she is safe with me, but that I am safe with her. Like I can do more with her around.

I stop for a few seconds and look around. We are in a small clearing, not large enough to be obvious by hovercraft or airplane but enough that you could find it. A small patch of wildflowers sits at the edge. Wildflowers... I swallow back bile as the memory of Rue buried in wildflowers, a spear sticking sickeningly from her abdomin, pops up in my mind. I take my dagger and carve a long line in the bark of a nearby tree until it is visible and stuck out from everything else.

"This is where we're going to meet up," I tell Gia, adjusting my backpack on my shoulders. "Whenever the sun is at its highest is when we'll meet." I turn my eyes to the skies, looking for the artificial sun. I grimace as I find it and it burns my irritated eyes. I turn back to the young girl watching me. "We have about three hours. That should give us enough time to find a decent amount of food, put together at least." I breathe out through my mouth deeply and put a hand on her shoulder. I weigh my dagger carefully in my hand. I hold it out to her, hilt first. "Here. Take this."

Her eyes widen slightly. "But- But, Sapphire, what are you going to have to protect yourself?" she asks, searching me with her eyes. "Don't you have another one that you can use? I mean, you can't just go around how you are with no weapon."

I snort unencouragingly, feeling disgusted as I feel mucus trying to flow from my nose. I move my hand from her shoulder to press it to my nostrils. She gets a smug look on her face, as if this proves her point. I roll my eyes slightly. "Look, I know a bit of self defense. Plus, I'm the best darn climber in this arena. No one's going to hurt me. I promise." I smile to try to give her a bit of encouragement. I'm not sure how convincing it is since I sneeze directly after it.

She shakes her head, bits of black hair falling in her eyes, and takes the knife from my hand, shoving it in her bag where she can still reach it if need be. "Please be careful, Sapphire," she says, each word with a bit of emphasis on it. I childishly stick my tongue out at her before turning and walking out from the clearing, scanning the forest for anything to eat.

* * *

I wrinkle my nose as I pluck a fig from a tree and the sticky white liquid coats my fingertip. They aren't ripe yet but they'll make do. Some food is better than none. I stand carefully on a branch as I reach up to pull a large one from a branch above me. I mentally curse myself for rolling around in this tree as I sneeze loudly. I resist the urge to rub my nose with my dusty, grimy hands as I reach more to get the fig from the branch. I grit my teeth as I stretch my fingers to grab the small green fruit. Finally, I grab hold of it with two of my fingers and twist the little bulb so it was break from where it was attached. I let out a tiny frustrated shriek as it squishes between my fingers and the pink inside runs down my hand.

I spot another one of the fruits on a higher branch, where they get thinner and thinner. But if I could just step up on the next branch, I should be able to get it. I press my foot on several branches, testing their sturdiness before I find one and step up on it. I stretch my sore arm to try and retrieve the fig. My fingertips brush it as I reach for it. I stand carefully on my toes as I try to get a hold of it. I grin successfully as my fingers wrap around it.

Then frown whenever an unencouraging _snap _sounds from under my feet. I shove the fig into the bag so hurry to get down from the branch before I can go _clunk_. My right foot is just about to touch the branch under me whenever the branch my left foot is on gives way, and I find myself falling towards the ground.

I throw my arms out in front of me to break my fall though it does no good as my body connects with the forest floor, making my aching stomach hurt more. I push myself up into a sitting position and rub my wrist, making the pain go away. It is possible that I sprained it, but I don't think that I did. I look up at the sky, at the sun, and sigh as I see that at least two hours have passed. I pull my bag out and observe my inventory. So far, I have gathered three oranges and a handful of raspberries, figs, and wild blueberries.

I stand up, readjusting the straps to my backpack, and began to walk again. A slight breeze cools the sweat on the back of my neck and my forehead, making the short hairs attach to my lips. I savor the feeling of the cold, a completely different cold from that that comes at night, a bearable kind of cold.

I am not sure how far I had walked whenever something caught the corner of my eye. I turn my head to see a bright orange backpack sitting in the middle of the forest unattended. I look around slightly, making sure that no one is around before I drop to my knees beside it. I unzip it quickly and observe its contents, hoping for food or weapons or maybe even something that can help these stupid allergies. Maybe it was one of the fallen tribute's, and they didn't have it with them when they... passed.

Sitting on top of everything in it are four medium sized bags. Out of mild curiousity, I pick one up. Whatever is in it is round - lots of little round things. Nuts, maybe? I pull on the little string to look inside. My eyes widen as a strange smell emits from it as soon as the slightest hole is made.

I throw the bag as hard as I can and dive for cover. Too close for comfort and sooner than I expected, I hear a rather large _boom _and cover my ears as the sound ricochets off the walls of my ear canals and pounds on my eardrums. I hold in a screech of pain as I feel something strike my tricep painfully and something else sticks in the back of my neck and my left shoulder. My ears ring as I hear the sound of whooping getting nearer and nearer to me.

My scrambled mind seems to work force itself to control my body as I scramble for cover behind a tree, and somehow put together that they were coming from the east. I press myself as close to the trunk as possible, trying to blend in to it. Soon, the whoops became words that I could put together.

"Fifteen down - seven to go!" a male voice says. I immediately recognize it as Agro. I also recognize it as Cato. Shivers run down my spine as the thought enters my mind. I dare not move, not look around the tree to see his smug face.

"Honestly, Agro, what do you plan to do whenever it gets down to the three of us?" a female voice says. I recognize it as the girl that tried to kill me. I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. "One of us has to get out, and I doubt we can pull another Katniss Everdeen. They'd probably just let us die."

Agro snorts unpleasantly. _"Katniss Everdeen," _he says, my mother's name coming out like they are poison. "I'd like to go up against her in the arena. I could beat her - both her and her crippled husband. But I got the next best thing. I hope their daughter had the worst life possible before I kill her."

A chill runs through me as his words register in my mind. I've seen what Agro could do in the Training Center. He's strong, he's merciless, he's intimidating overall. The shivers continue as grunts of protest make their way into my ringing ears.

"Speaking of the 'Crown Jewel'... shut her little lover up, will you?"

I put my hand over my mouth as I hear something connecting with something else, making a cracking sound, and grunts of pain. I figured Chisel would be with the Careers but not held captive, not being used against his will for their benefit.

"You see?" a voice I don't recognize says, perhaps the boy from District One. "I told you guys that he wouldn't be a waste. And you wanted to do away with him as soon as we found him." He snorts.

"Whatever," Agro says in frustration. I can clearly see his dissatisfied scowl on his face, and instantly think of Cato. I bite the inside of my cheek as I try to push it back and think of anything other than the image of Mother and Father fighting their final competitor on top of the Cornucopia. "We'll have him make more whenever we get back to the camp."

I hold my breath as I hear footsteps approaching my tree. I swallow hard and try not to think of the death that awaits me in Agro's hands. The footsteps stop short of my tree. I peer out slowly so that most of the trunk obscures my vision, but I can still get a glimpse of the burly boy standing four feet from the only barrier I have between the two of us. His face is full of confusion, his dull eyes scanning the forest for something. The confusion turns into aggression as he whirls on the other three behind him. He stomps over to Chisel, and his large figure blocks my view of the thinner boy.

"You said these bombs would be lethal!" he yells, his voice booming in the quiet, thin forest. "If they're so lethal, where's the cannon, the blood, the body parts? Well? I could have killed you from moment I stepped off that plate, Twelve! Don't think just because you're father's an important inventor or because you're in love with the most hunted tribute in the arena that that means I'll spare you. You're making your time here shorter and shorter. Don't give me anymore reasons to kill you right here, right now."

There are loud mumbles and grunts. They don't sound desperate or pained. In fact, I can even hear a bit of Hawthorne sarcasm in the noises. I can feel the corners of my lips tug upward at the thought that Chisel is still maintaining his sanity even in this place of horror, being held by the worst tributes in the arena. A forced, rumbling sound was heard from where I figure the captive was standing.

The next thing happened so fast, I would have missed it had I blinked. Agro rears his foot back and brings it forward. Chisel's laughter is cut short as the Career's large boot connects with his torso again and again until his slides on his side. My breath catches in my throat as I catch a glimpse of him.

His hands are tied back behind him, a piece of cloth tied around his mouth so that he cannot speak. His face is bruised and cut, smeared with mud and dirt. His dirty blond hair now looks as if it is streaked with a darker brown, dingy and stringy, hanging down in his eyes like it did when we were younger. His eyes are squeezed shut in pain, and he keeps dropping his head. I realize that he is dry-heaving from the force of the impact. A part of me itches to run out to him, to try and free him from the hands of these monsters though neither of us is in any condition to take the three of them on. I resist it, digging my fingernails in the dirt beneath me, the warm soil crumpling quickly in my grasp.

His eyes open slowly as his heaving slows, and his breathing starts to become even again. They move around as if trying to focus again. My skin tingles in fright and surprise as the shiny black orbs settle on my own sapphire eyes. He keeps his gaze there, emotionless as usual, until Agro grabs his arm and roughly yanks him to his feet.

"Move," he growled at Chisel and the others, scooping the backpack full of grenades up and settling it on his shoulder. "We've got to go before someone finds us. Shine, you're on duty for the captive." The small group starts to move out of the area, the boy from District One - Shine - shoving the butt of a spear into Chisel's back, making him move.

I stay where I am, holding in a sneeze until I no longer hear their footsteps. I shove my own bag onto my back and begin to sprint in the other direction. My mind is racing with thoughts that I cannot process. I see nothing in particular. Just the blur of trees and greenery as I rush to get away from the Careers. My tricep aches as I pump my arms, but I ignore it, wanting just to get away, to stay away from the intimidating Careers.

I stifle a shriek as my body collides with something though I land with an _oof _on the ground. The other person does also.

"Sapphire? What's the matter with you? You look terrified."

I rub my collarbone, where Gia's shoulder hit when we ran into each other. "I'm fine," I mumble quickly. I stand quickly, helping her up as well. "I was just... I was afraid I wasn't going to make it back to you in time. I was worried."

Gia rolls her eyes though I can tell that it is half-heartedly. "Geez, I was worried about you too, but not _that _worried," she says sarcastically. She looks a little guilty after she says that. "Anyway, I found an apple tree a few yards away from where we left, and I g- Sapphire, your arm. What did you do?"

I had almost forgotten about the pain in my arm, the thing that struck it. "Um..." I rub the spot where the object penetrated my skin. It feels like metal, something sharp, and when I move it, it sends a new string of pain through my arm. I pinch the tip in between my dirty fingernails and yank. I ignore the pain it brings and examine the object in my fingers. I was right about it being metal, a decent-sized chunk of metal covered with my blood. A realize that it is shrapnel from the grenade that Chisel had made. Blood flows from the spot that I pulled it from. The thirteen-year-old wrinkles her nose in disgust as I turn it over and over in my fingers. "A bomb - or a grenade really - went off near where I was gathering food. Some of the shrapnel hit me." I rub the back of my neck and wince as the piece there moves around in my flesh. "I think I have more."

The wrinkles in her nose get deeper as she takes in what I'm saying. "Come here," she says quietly with reluctance in her voice. "I'll take them out."

Needless to say, she refrained from passing out and pulled the shrapnel out quickly. She twisted it in her fingers. "Who could have made a bomb and set it off in the arena?" she mumbles, throwing the metal pieces away in disgust. "And that quickly too? They would have had to already know how to make one and make it fast. I mean, bomb making isn't just some simple thing you learn overnight."

My stomach twists as I pull out my stock from today's gathering. Should I tell her or should I not? Does she not know the things her brother is capable of, the things he can make? Or is she playing dumb for his protection? But if I tell her, I would have to let her know about the Careers and how they are holding him captive and torturing him - how he looked whenever I caught a glimpse of him. I wouldn't want to make her worry anymore than she has to. "Maybe it was the Gamemakers," I say, the lie coming out smoother than I expected. I bit down on the feeling of guilt as it came up and try to swallow it down. "It sounds like something they'd do."

She narrows her grey eyes and takes a bite of the orange I handed her. "But if it was the Gamemakers, why would they stop if you were still alive? Wouldn't they keep trying until you were dead?"

I choke on the gulp of water I had just drank, trying to look for an excuse for her question - or a lie more accurately. My mind flashes back to when I watched my mother in the Hunger Games, dodging the fireballs the Gamemakers were shooting at her until she was injured, how she panicked whenever her leg caught fire, or the fog in the Third Quarter Quell, and how it didn't stop until she was to safety in the water with Father and Finnick. I run my hands up and down my arms, rolling myself in a ball as if I have suddenly become cold. "Maybe they weren't meant for me," I say, wiping my nose on my sleeve, feeling grubby and disgusting. It doesn't help whenever I feel the first drops of rain on my skin. "Great," I mumble, starting to my feet. "Just what we needed. Rain with no rocks or caves to keep us safe in the freezing cold night."

I look down at Gia to see her glaring at me with disapproval of my negativity. I shrug without saying a word as I haul her to her feet and practically drag her behind me, looking for shelter as the rain starts to pour. I lean my head back occasionally and let the water flow down my face, filling my nose and making water droplets stick to my eyelashes and roll down my cheeks whenever I blink as if I am crying. I look back at Gia every so often and usually find her with a smile on her face as she holds out her palm, catching the water in her hand and then patting it on her cheeks, rubbing them to get the dirt off. A small piece of bliss in such terrible conditions. I smile a little as I am refreshed with the feeling of the delicate drops on my skin, soaking my hair and making it stringy and jet black, running trails through the dirt on my skin. Overall rejuvenating.

Even if for the time being.

* * *

**A/N: There you go guys! Merry Christmas again! I hope this was a good present from me! I wanted to hurry and get it finished for you today since I haven't updated in a while.  
Now for a Christmas present back to me, you can review my story with encouraging words and nice things. Suggest it to your friends and get me more followers. And also, read my other Hunger Games story, _The Second Quarter Quell _and for all you _Twilight _fans, _Caged Bird's Melody._**

**__Thanks, guys! Hope your Christmas has been a good one! You're all amazing!  
-AGEless**


	27. Chapter 27: Chapter 26

**TWENTY-SIX**

I had second shift that night so I was awake when the sun rose. It hadn't stopped raining since about an hour and a half ago, and so I was freezing and my clothes and hair were still damp. I climb out of the tree quietly and stand in a direct ray of light after the sun had come up more. I sigh in satisfaction as the heat seeps into pores, seeming to warm me slowly but surely.

A smile plays on my lips as the light plays on the raindrops on the leaves and grass. It lights the forest and makes the vegetation shimmer and shine as if it is an enchanted place. Just like the meadow in District Twelve after a rain. It was always one of my favorite times to be in the meadow. I took a deep breath and breathed in the sweet smell of fresh rain. I was pleasantly surprised that I could breathe through my nose. I wasn't sure how long it would last, but I planned to bask in the fact that I could. I pull a couple of oranges out of my backpack and kick Gia awake.

"Up!" I say to her, nudging her in the ribs a little more than gently. "It's a new day! Giovanni! Awaken! I'm going to sit on you!"

Her grey eyes open slowly and stare up at me, unamused. She shivers a bit and pulls her damp hood up over her head while mumbling, "Your sudden morning peppiness... it burns like the lava of a thousand suns, or however that old expression goes."

I clench my jaw and grab her by her feet and drag her into the sunlight. "I'm happy this morning, and you're not going to ruin it," I tell her as I pull her through the muck. "You'll feel better after you warm up a bit. In the meantime," - I shove an orange in her face - "eat this and get your blood flowing. We have things to do today."

She obeys and carefully peels her fruit, shoving the skin under some leaves. She stares at me with her eyes narrowed as she eats, her expression getting less resentful every few minutes. Finally she says, "Why are you in such a good mood this morning, anyway?"

I pop another orange slice in my mouth and shrug, savoring the tart juice as it explodes in my mouth, making me think back to my house in District Twelve at breakfast time. When they were in season, my mother always made fresh orange juice. She knew how much I liked it and would always be sure to make some on my birthday, especially for me, and my father would make a large batch of my favorite pancakes..

I look at Gia as she is trying to get pulp out of her teeth. She notices and covers her mouth as she licks her teeth. "Is that bothering you?" she asks as I continue to watch her.

I shake my head and suck on my last slice, thinking. How long have we been in the arena? What day is it? I scratch my dry lips and ask Gia, "How many days have we been here?" I haven't really been keeping track though I know I should have. You don't really pay much attention to time whenever you are fighting for your life.

Apparently, she hasn't been keeping up very well either as she has to count on her fingers as she thinks about it. She finally says, "Four I think. There was the Cornucopia, - that's day one - then we found each other on day two, yesterday was day three then. So we're on day four. Seems like much longer, doesn't it?"

I scratch my head. "Yeah it does," I say. I thought about the date that we entered the arena. The eighteenth... so that meant that today was...

"It's your birthday, isn't it?"

I look up at Gia, an eyebrow raised. "Yeah... How did you-"

"You said in your interview that you'd have to survive four days in the arena to reach your birthday," she says, a grin playing on her lips. "Unless you were bluffing to try and get more sponsors. It seems like a smart idea if you ask me. I've never heard of that being used before."

I smile a bit, a small chuckle leaving my lips. "Don't worry," I say, "I wasn't bluffing. It's- it's my birthday. The big sixteen." More quietly, I add, "I just wish I was home." I immediately regret saying it. I've been pessimistic the whole time we were in the arena. I could at least be optimistic today. And at least I wasn't alone. I had Gia here with me. I'd rather have just her with me than nobody at all.

As if to prove my point, she places her hand over mine and squeezes it. Her smile is encouraging and understanding. With her free hand, she holds out her last orange slice and says, "Happy birthday, Sapphire." She places the piece in my hand and gets up to start packing our stuff.

* * *

My good mood stays the same as we go about our day. Other than being in a large arena where there are a bunch of other teenagers trying to kill you, the conditions seem just right today. It's not too hot today and my allergies aren't bothering me as badly. My arm is still sore from the shrapnel and I'm grubbier and dirtier, but everything else is fine. It's almost as if the Gamemakers made it perfect especially for my birthday. I try not to linger on the fact that it almost seems too perfect.

"What are we doing today, birthday girl?" Gia asks, kicking a stone lightly. I kick it back as it lands in front of me.

"Same as always," I mumble. What I really wanted to say was look for Chisel and get him from the clutches of the Careers. But I held myself back. No need to worry Gia with the news that her brother was being held captive. Not yet, not today. "Only I want to look for shelter. I'm honestly getting tired of sleeping in trees." I rub my lower back and neck, stiff with soreness. "I'd even go for a nice cave or something, especially after last night's rain."

Gia sighs behind me. "No mountains. No caves. Not even a hill in sight," she mumbles sadly, her stormy eyes scanning the forest expectantly, as if waiting for one to rise from the ground suddenly. Of course, with the Gamemakers controlling everything, I wouldn't put it behind me.

I swat a mosquito (though it was cooler, the rain seemed to have brought more) and look around too, taking in my surroundings for the millionth time since I've been in the arena. I strain my ears to listen for something, anything, that could possibly help us. All I hear are birds singing in the trees and the occasional woodland animal rustling in the bushes, things I would love to catch but can't with no wire or bow or even a good throwing knife. Finally I hear something that sparks an idea. I turn in the direction of the noise and a grin plays on my lips as hope surges through me.

"We've covered almost all the land this side of the river," I tell Gia, thinking of the water flowing through the arena. "Maybe if we go to the other side, there will be more, some kind of shelter we can use. Come on." I look over my shoulder to make sure she's following as I start walking but she does not. Instead, she is staring at her feet, looking sheepish. "Gia, are you coming or not?"

She stares at her feet for a while longer - she must think her shoes are very interesting - when she finally looks up, two pink splotches on her cheeks, and nods.

I raise my eyebrows at this odd behavior. There has to be something that she is not telling me, and it has to be important. "Gia, is something wrong?" I ask her quietly, cautiously. "Do you have a problem with crossing the river?"

She shakes her head a bit too quickly. I stay silent, giving her a few minutes to reconsider her answer, feeling willing to hear her out. Finally, she nods and says, "I was just- Well, I- I thought about... the rain. Has the river gone up any? Won't it make it harder to cross after the rain? Would we have to- have to swim across?"

I narrow my eyes, thinking for a few seconds. I had not even thought about the rain and how it would effect the current of the river. All I knew was that I had a strategy and so far it had worked: keep moving. Don't stay in one place too long. And I wasn't about to break that strategy just because of some water. "Look," I began slowly, "the water probably hasn't gone up that much - it didn't rain a lot last night. And even if it has, there are sure to be trees and rock we can walk across, right, if not a Gamemaker bridge. And if all else fails... well we can both swim right?"

Gia didn't look convinced. But she simply nods her head and treads after me.

* * *

I frown as I stare down at the water rushing past very fast.

"Told you."

My frown deepens. "It didn't even rain that much!"

Just another reminder that we are in a man-made and -controlled arena. The water was much, much higher, as if it had been raining for weeks rather than one night. It was also much faster and, no doubt, deeper. The place where, a few nights before I could wade in up to my ankles was now waist deep, a large difference that could not be made by the rain last night.

A low growl came from my stomach, making my frown lower still. I sadly remember that those oranges this morning were the last bits of food we had. Luckily, my hunger is not bad enough to be painful yet. My eyes scan the river up and down as Gia takes a seat on the bank. "So what now?" she asks, turning a smooth, shiny, bluish rock over and over in her hand. "Are we just staying over on this side?"

I shot a glare at her, something I hated doing, but shook my head. "No. We're crossing. Come on. Get up." I grab her wrist and drag her up to her feet. "I see a fallen tree right over there. We're crossing right there." I point to the place where the tree is, the log wide and sturdy-looking. "You'll be fine, I promise."

"But, Sapphire, I- I-" Gia seemed to bite the inside of her mouth and hung her head in defeat. "Never mind. Let's go."

As I turn and begin walking, I hear something hit the surface of the water. I assume that Gia has thrown her rock into the river. I then hear her gasp in a breath in surprise. I turn around to face her, praying that she didn't fall in. Instead, I find her staring at the surface of the water with wide eyes, her mouth in the shape of an _o. _"Sapphire," she says quietly. "Did you see- I thought I saw- I mean... Never mind. I must just be tired. Come on. The river's not slowing down any time soon."

* * *

"I'll go first," I say as we reach the tree. It is not as wide as it looked from afar. "Unless you want to go, ease the nerves a bit?"

She swallows, scratching her throat, which was now red from how much she had scratched. She hadn't looked good since we had reached the tree. She was pale and her eyes wide. A very thin trickle of sweat was now running from her hairline down her nose. Something was obviously eating her. "No, no, you go first," she said quietly. "I'd feel better if you go first."

I grab onto a pulled up root, getting ready to climb up on the trunk of the tree. However, one look at Gia's face makes me stop for a second. Something tugs in my stomach and I climb back down a couple of roots. "You know, Gia, if you aren't comfortabke with this, we don't have to do it. We can stay on this side of the river. Really. We'll turn back right now. Who do I know? It might be safer if we stay here."

She shook her head though I could see her thinking this offer over in her eyes. She plants her feet solidly on the ground and turns her chin up. "I know how much you want to go to the other side. If I don't go over, Sapphire, then this is where we separate because you're going to the other side whether I want to or not."

I clench my teeth as I hang on to the root I am standing on. This sounded like Haymitch's Hunger Games, when he and Maysilee Donner parted ways. They thought that it might end in possible success, but it only ended in disaster. My throat closes in shock. I nod without being able to say anything, and turn to climb back up the tree.

"But I don't want to leave you. What good will it do us?"

I pause mid-climb and without looking at her say, "So we're staying together?"

When she speaks her voice is confident and clear. "We're staying together."

I climb onto the trunk and carefully begin to walk. I am aware of Gia's anxious eyes on me as I slowly and cautiously place one foot in front of the other. It goes fairly well, only having to hold my arms out for balance about halfway through, when it starts getting narrower. But since I was a young girl, I have had excellent balance. I grin as I reach the end and lightly leap off, onto the bank, sinking a little in the mud. I turn to face the opposite bank where Gia stands staring at me. I wave, then cup my hands around my mouth and say, "It's not that hard. Hurry and cross!"

She nods and steps onto one of the roots and climbs onto the trunk. Her lips are pressed together tightly and she looks down at her feet, carefully walking. I grit my own teeth and watch her nervously. I can tell already that her balance is not as good as mine. Or at least, not now with her nerves bothering her. "You're doing great, Gia!" I call to her as she starts to hesitate in the middle of the trunk, finally noticing that it is getting narrower and narrower as you get farther. "Don't worry. Just be careful, watch you're footing; you're halfway there. Come on!"

Her nervous expression does not waver at all as she continues the walk down the tree, but she speeds up slightly, evidently ready to be over on my end. She is two-thirds of the way there when her foot slips and she loses her balance. I clench my jaw tighter, watching her as she tries to get it back. For a moment, she seems to have it. But then, she slips again and falls into the water. And when she falls, she does not come back up.

I stare at the place where she fell, unable to do anything for half a second, before my brain starts working again. I rush over to the edge of the water and peer in, as if able to see through the murky, brown water. "Gia!" I yell, searching the water for any sign of her. "Gia! Where are you?" Panic starts running through me as I stand up and stand on top of the trunk to look up and down the river. "Gia!" My heart races, my hands start to sweat. I run them nervously through my hair. _Please swim on the bank, _I think over and over. _Please, please, Gia, swim on the bank._

__"Sapphire!" I hear somewhere behind me. I turn and see Giovanni's dark head bobbing on top of the water. But it does not stay in one place. It is being carried farther and farther away by the river's swift current.

"Gia! Giovanni!" I don't remember getting off the log, I don't remember starting to run, but I do. I run until I have am a few feet away from Gia, but she is being carried still by the water. "Gia, try and swim out of the current! Gia!"

"Sapphire!" she says, in a loud, high-pitched squeal. "Sapphire, I can't swim! Help, Sapphire!"

If I had any breath in me at that moment, it would have left and I wouldn't have been able to gain it back. I nearly tripped on a root and several thoughts run through my mind. What if I can't catch up with her? What if she drowns? What if I go in and the water's too strong, and I can't pull her out? Can she keep her head above water long enough to be able to wash up on a bank? What if the Careers find her? Will they kill her? Will they take her captive like Chisel?

No.

"Gia! Grab onto something, anything! I'll pull you out! Just, grab something!"

She is pulled several more feet before she finally manages to grab onto a root protruding from the middle of the river. She wraps both arms around tightly until her triceps are white. I imagine she managed to wrap her legs around too. I grimace as I look for something that I can climb onto to be able to reach her. Nothing around seems to be sturdy enough. But I have to do something or Gia could drown. I finally settle on a thin branch that reached just far enough that if I stretched, I could get her out. That or pull us both in.

I cautiously crawl to the farthest I dare to go on the branch. Gia watches me with wide eyes. I stretch out my hand towards her. "Gia," I say, trying to keep my voice calm for her. "Grab my hand. I'll pull you up."

She stares for a second before stretching her hand out too and grabbing it. "Are you sure you're strong enough to pull me up, Sapphire?" she asks, her voice also surprisingly calm though she looks like a deer being hunted.

I feel my eyebrows knit together at her question. I hadn't even thought about that, but there was no time. Gia had to be pulled out now. I nod, instead of saying so. She looks doubtful for a second, then seems to think the same thing I do. She slowly lets go of the root. "Now!" she says as her fingers release their final hold.

I feel my triceps burn as I begin to pull. I know that she is doing her best trying to help me pull her out, but it feels as though she is doing no work at all. I release my grip on my branch with my other hand and grab Gia's other hand with it, instead wrapping my legs around the branch. Though this does make pulling her out a bit easier, I still feel as though this is too much for me to handle.

I have her out of the water up to her hips when she gives a sudden cry and I feel another weight join onto hers. "What is it?" I cry, struggling to pull her up.

"Something's got me! Something's got me, Sapphire!"

I look down into the water and see bright red mixing with the brown water. She gives out another pained shriek as the thing pulls her down again. "Sapphire, I don't know what it is! Help!"

My heart beat already racing, it goes even faster as I try even harder to pull her out. The extra weight suddenly lifts and it becomes easier to pull her out. I have her up to her thighs when something emerges from the water right next to Gia. My breath catches in my throat as I look to see what it is.

A large creature with long, pointy spikes on its back. It is scaly and green, and sinister-looking. Its red eyes glare up at me as it watches me trying to pull Gia out of the water. I gasp as it opens its wide mouth to reveal rows and rows of sharp teeth. And Gia lets out a cry of agony as it clamps its jaw around her knees.

The mutt pulls her back down in the water up to her waist, nearly dragging me into the water with her. "Help!" she cries. "Sapphire, please, help!" Tears stream down her already wet face. Her grey eyes scream agony as she looks up at me desperately. I am caught between a rock and a hard place but I keep pulling as I think things over in my head. I cannot leave Gia to this mutt, but if I get her out of the water, she will probably lose her legs. I have seen my father struggle with his prosthetic leg, and do not want her to have the same life. But I told her I would keep her safe. I can't give her up this easily. I can't.

"You're going to be okay," I tell her as I struggle to pull her up. "I'm going to get you out."

She gets pulled down again. My left hand slips from hers. "Another one!" she screams. More blood. We struggle to grab each other's hands again. Our fingertips have barely brushed whenever she gets pulled again. I hold on tightly with my right hand but it is no use. Gia is pulled completely back under the water.

"Gia!" I scream in a voice that cannot be mine. It is hysterical and pained. Like someone who has just watched a close friend or family member die. That is not me. "Giovanni, please! Please, come back up! Gia!"

Instead, all I see is blood. Eventually, the two mutts that dragged her down resurface and stare up at me, as if expecting me to come down and join them. And somewhere in the distance, a cannon fires.

* * *

**A/N: I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while, and I'm sorry that my update had to be this. If it makes it any better, I cried while writing this. No? It doesn't? Well, please don't kill me, then.  
I'm sorry I haven't been updating as often. The creative juices haven't been flowing very well, lately. In fact, I feel as though this is just thrown together so if it seems that way, I'm also sorry for that.**

**Also, ATTENTION MAXIMUM RIDE FANS:  
I am thinking about writing a Maximum Ride fanfiction. I have thought about this for a while. So here is what I was thinking for the description, if you think it is a good idea, leave a comment. If you think it is a bad idea, let me know that too:  
_You all have heard of the famous Maximum Ride, right, "savior of the world" and her flock? Well, have you ever wondered about the other birdkids out there? Sure, you get to hear all about her story. Now, I'm ready to share mine. My name's Lilah, or Delilah. Now listen closely.  
_So, like I said, leave a comment, let me know.  
**

**Rate, review, share with your friends! You guys are really great!**

**RIP Giovanni Hawthorne**


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